


The Sound of Silence

by rebeldesire



Series: Hear No Evil [1]
Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-01 15:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 59,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebeldesire/pseuds/rebeldesire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been 3 years since Bonnie Bennett has put the town of Mystic Falls in her rear-view mirror, vowing never to return. A history major at BC by day and a witch-for-hire by night, Bonnie pays the bills by selling the tricks of her trade, though she vows to never again involve herself in the affairs of vampires. But when she receives phone calls from two individuals she never wants to see again, she is thrust unwillingly back into the world she so desperately tried to leave behind. As she races against the clock to uncover the killer bent on raising nothing short of hell, Bonnie must put aside her wants and discover the strength she needs in order to prevent the world from destruction. Along the way, she makes a pact with her sworn enemies to take down the biggest threat to humankind the world has ever seen, or soon the world may ring with the sound of silence.</p><p>It’s her destiny. It may also be her doom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hello, Darkness, My Old Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but my words.

She always did like playing with her food.

He was handsome, this one, and young, too. She liked them young. Their youthful energy was so vibrant and so bright in their last dying breaths. It gave her a strange and delicious ache whenever she felt it fluttering against her tongue, swelling inside of her like a tiny, shivering little bird taking wing.

She kissed him softly, sweetly, even. She knew how he wanted it, she could tell that much from the little pieces of his soul that she sampled with each stroke of her tongue against his. He was still a little boy on the inside, she learned; he wanted to be held and stroked and told the stuff of his nightmares were just that, only that, even though he knew much better. Sadly this was the one thing she couldn't give to him, especially not now when it would be so blatant a lie to cross her lips. She owed him that one small honesty, at least. He resisted her valiantly at first, which impressed her; thoughts of his girlfriend and their love, his confusion about what was happening, they all crowded his conscious, making him try and break her grasp. But with her every touch his fight slowly ebbed, until she left him gasping and so weak-limbed he wobbled and then sank to an awkward kneel by her feet.

He blinked up at her through eyes shining with unshed tears, his face so young and so lost that she was almost moved out of pity to rethink his use for her.

"Please." The word dropped clumsy from his tongue, as if he had forgotten how to use it. It was almost endearing, the way he said it so brokenly, yet with such hope.

She smiled down at him, a radiant, beautiful smile that seemed to fill the air with shimmering light, a light comparable to the rays of the dying sun behind them. The sunset painted her skin a rich golden hue and lent her glittering black eyes a warmth they perhaps did not hold without. The boy's face filled with trust, and she could feel him swell with love at the sight of her. She reached out and tenderly caressed his cheek, and his eyes fluttered closed, long lashes sweeping her thumb as she smoothed it along his cheekbone. He glowed so brightly from within. She truly found it beautiful, and it almost saddened her, as they always did. She pressed a kiss to his temple and smoothed his hair back from his forehead. He leaned heavily against her thighs, unable to hold himself upright.

"Please," he repeated sleepily, eyes still closed, although in his delirious state he no longer had any idea what he was pleading for.

She shook her head.

"No."

And with a swiftness that belied her grace, she reached out and in one fluid motion parted his head from his shoulders.

His blood sprayed upward in an arc, bathing her in crimson and sluicing down her face and arms in dark streaming rivulets. She shuddered, closing her eyes and licking her lips clean of the coppery warmth. Tears shimmered between her eyelids but did not fall as she felt his energy shiver, uncertain, and then merge slowly with her own. This one was sad, heart heavy with years of hurt it did not deserve to bear. It was always the good ones who tasted sweetest from within. He was at peace, now. She would keep him safe. She was Mother.

She could be kind.

The golden shine of the sunset seemed like fire reflected in her bright shimmering orbs, forever changing: now purple, now blue, now red, now black. She focused on one of the last images in his mind before he died, a woman he once knew. A thrill of excitement shot through her.

_Yes… she's the one._

She smiled, satisfied. _At long last, I have found her._

She turned away from the carnage she had wrought.

Her footsteps made bloody prints across the boardwalk as she strode purposefully away from the surf, to hasten her destiny and the end of mankind.

* * *

" **YOU FILTHY LITTLE CUNT!** "

The screech ricocheted off the rafters of the warehouse, echoing for a few moments before being sucked into the yawning dark beyond the flickering circle of light.

Bonnie closed her eyes and sighed, letting out the stream of air between clenched teeth.

Why did she always get the screamers?

Pinching the bridge of her nose to ignore the migraine that was beginning to form, Bonnie finished lighting the circle of candles on the floor, putting out the match with an impatient flick of her wrist. Lighting the candles by hand took an annoying amount of time in comparison to what she could have done, but ritual was ritual and cheating just left loopholes in the spellwork to exploit. She pushed herself to her feet, the dusty floorboards creaking underneath her boots as she strode over to the table she had set up by a wooden beam near the window, which was covered with a paint-splattered drop cloth. Bonnie tossed her matchbook onto the table and shrugged out of her leather jacket, which she, too, flung atop the grimy pockmarked wood. She rolled her shoulders experimentally, tossing her dark curls over her shoulder.

" **WHORE! I WILL STRIP THE FOUL FLESH FROM YOUR BONES! I WILL RIP YOUR INNARDS! FUCKING CUNT WHORE!** "

Bonnie inhaled sharply. She leaned across the table to snag the satchel that she had brought with her. Undoing the latches, she slid her hand inside and smiled as her fingers brushed against the spine of the book within. She let the bag drop to the floor as she clutched the book tightly to her chest, eyes fluttering closed for a heartbeat. The book seemed to hum in her grasp, as if sensing her familiar presence.

Bonnie's eyes shot open. She cracked her neck.

"Okay. Let's do this."

And then she finally turned to face her.

It.

Them.

The girl might have been pretty once, before. In the picture her father had shown Bonnie, she had a bright white smile with dimples, high cheekbones, and sky blue eyes. The kind of eyes they write songs about. The picture had been taken a year ago, back when the girl was simply Annabeth.

Bonnie could not help but feel pity and revulsion in equal measure as she gazed down at what had become of the vibrant young girl in that picture.

Her skin had gone lumpy and sallow, like curdled milk, and it seemed swollen and heavy on her body; yet for some reason it stretched much too tightly across her face, revealing every contour and jutting angle of the bone beneath. Annabeth's eyes were sunken, red, and watery, one pupil much larger than the other… one eye was effectively black, with no iris to speak of. It could have been a symptom of the concussion she had given herself in one of her throes, but Bonnie knew better. Anna's hair, once a beautiful rich auburn, now fell in brittle white strands to her waist, what little of it she hadn't torn from her scalp with her own two hands. Her lips were stretched back across her teeth in a macabre facsimile of a grin, though not by any effort of her own; there was barely any gum left, only long teeth, sharp and pointed— a sign that she had succumbed and eaten human flesh quite early on in the transition.

The wire that bound Annabeth to her chair had cut deep into her pale doughy flesh, and as she had fought her bindings she had nearly sawed clean through to the bone before Bonnie realized what she had done. Bonnie had made sure to place heavy strips of cloth between the metal wiring and the girl's wrists from then on, but the damage was done. Blood pooled thick and congealing around the girl's ankles, staining the raw wood an unmistakable color. The girl's fingertips were a bloody mess; she had tried to claw her way out of the room they had first locked her into, and had she not eventually been restrained, she would have worn her hands down to bloody stumps on her arms. Eventually she had resorted to clawing at her own eyes, but thankfully she had no fingernails left with which to scratch.

Bonnie burned with hatred at the sight of her, of what it had turned her into.

The creature sensed her gaze. It rolled Anna's head around until it could fix her with its eyes, one blue, one black. It snarled gutturally in response, an echoing, gravelly noise that no human girl should ever be able to make.

Bonnie blew it a kiss.

Anna's body seized as if shocked by a powerful electric current. Her hands scrabbled against the armrests of the chair as she struggled to break free and attack. The chair rocked back and forth as she yelled, eyes wide, spittle flying.

" **YOU FUCKING FILTH! YOU BITCH! YOU ARE DEAD!** _ **FUCKING WHORE WITCH!**_ " With each word spoken, the pitch deepened and distorted. Bonnie could distinguish two distinct voices at least, maybe three. Blood spattered across the floor as the girl's body contorted, the thing or things inside of her battling to break loose.

Bonnie clenched her jaw tightly, a determined look settling across her features. Holding the grimoire aloft in her left hand and raising her right palm to the heavens, she began.

"I call upon my ancestors to guide me as I expel this unholy creature from our realm," Bonnie recited loudly, voice ringing clear over the increasing howls of the foul monster before her. Wind whistled through the floorboards and unfinished gaps in the woodwork of the warehouse, swirling around her ankles and guttering the flames of the candles in the circle. "I call upon the ancient guardians of this domain to restore balance as it was, and as it ought. Hear my plea and harken."

Suddenly, the candles flared in pentagonal order, the flames growing to several times their height and glowing so blindingly bright that Bonnie had to throw up a hand to cover her eyes. The creature in the middle of the circle hissed and convulsed, attempting to pull away from the bright light.

The wind picked up again and the book in Bonnie's hand rose into the air, hovering in the void between her and the possessed. It floated for a moment, then in a flurry of motion the book shot open and the pages blurred as they sped past. Finally, the book seemed to settle upon a particular point. With a sudden and sharp motion as if thrown, the book slammed to the floor with a bang like a gunshot, raising the dust that coated the warehouse floor in an ashy cloud about it. The light of the candles pulsed and swayed in unison with the movement.

The edge of Bonnie's mouth cocked upwards and she shook her head. Astral witches... always throwing stuff around to make an impression.

She knelt down. "Let's see what we're dealing with today…" she muttered to herself, eyes roving the page before her. A satisfied grin slowly unfurled across her face as she read. She glanced up at the thrashing demon, smile still plastered to her face.

"Oh, goody. I've never met _you_ before. I just _love_ trying new spells," Bonnie smirked at the demon before her. "Don't you? Let's begin, shall we?" Gripping the grimoire and lifting the heavy tome from the floor, she commenced the incantation.

" _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas,_ " Bonnie began to chant. The wind played havoc with her hair, blowing strands of it across her face and into her eyes, making them water. The demon snarled and bellowed in the circle, an otherworldly cry that made her skin prickle with gooseflesh. "… _omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica!_ "

Annabeth began shaking.

Her head began swaying back and forth, slowly at first, like a pendulum, but as Bonnie continued speaking the tempo increased until her head was a blur, shaking at preternatural speed as the demon within her roared in anguish.

" _Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis!_ " Bonnie shouted over the creature's cries. The candles flickered and pulsed brighter still, in time to the fluctuations in her voice.

Annabeth began to cry, or maybe it was the demon. Her head had stopped shaking, instead bowed at the neck as she whimpered. Thick ropes of black blood bubbled forth from her eyes, trickling their way down her cheeks as she shuddered and shook, dripping in long lines of crimson down to the floor.

The edges of Bonnie's lips turned downward, unnerved, but she shook herself and continued. "… _Contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine_ —"

"— **NNN… NNNOOO! Wait! Please!** " It was sobbing now. " **Please, please! No! Don't send me away! Please! I can't go back! I can't have failed!** "

Bonnie shut the grimoire with a snap. In three quick strides, she stepped over the flickering candle boundary and into the pentagrammaton, stopping when she was face-to-face with the creature.

"Back where?" Bonnie growled, bending down so that she was eye-level with the thing inside of Anna. "Failed _what_?"

The creature blinked blood out of its eyes and slowly lifted its head with a wheeze. It fixed her with a stare, and long moments passed before it opened its mouth once more. When it did, the long sharp teeth clacked together as it threw its head back and began to laugh. The noise was akin to nails on a chalkboard, grating her eardrums and chilling her to the core.

" **You are going to burn, you FUCKING WHORE! WITCH,** _ **YOU ARE GOING TO FUCKING BURN**_ **!** "

Its laugh deepened and echoed, growing louder and louder until it pressed up against every sense Bonnie knew. It fouled her mind.

And it hardened her heart.

"My _name_ ," Bonnie hissed over the creature's cackling laughter, "Is **Bonnie** _ **fucking**_ **Bennett**! And the only one who's going to burn here tonight is you, once I send you right back to hell!" Opening the grimoire with force and holding in aloft, she roughly gripped the creature's forehead tightly with her other hand and began to read once more, shouting over the demon's screams.

" _Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine!_ "

The creature began shaking again. The flesh of the girl's forehead that Bonnie gripped began to smoke and blacken, and the nauseating smell of charring flesh reached her nostrils as the demon fought against its bounds. The wind had reached hurricane speeds, and everything outside of the circle was being lifted and thrown against the walls with the force of it.

" _Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire,_ _ **te rogamus, AUDI… NOS!**_ " Bonnie shouted, slamming the spellbook closed.

The demon screamed.

Bonnie staggered backwards and out of the circle, nearly tripping over the candles of the pentagrammaton as the demon bucked in its seat. She used her magic to anchor herself to the floor; the wind outside the circle nearly ripped the grimoire right out of her hands.

Then it happened.

The demon reared and threw Anna's head back, entirely too far back, until the nape of her neck was almost in contact with the other side of the chair. Her eyes opened wide as the demon contorted her mouth in a grotesque, soundless scream.

The air grew still and silent, the wind slowing and then ceasing altogether.

All Bonnie could hear was her breathing, coming in ragged, uneven bursts.

And then with a sound like a small detonation, the demon _erupted_ , shrieking outward from every orifice, a black cloud of smoke and ash spewing forth from its host's lips like a fountain as it swirled up towards the rafters in a tight spiral. The warehouse heaved and shook, and Bonnie fell to her knees as she struggled to stay upright. As the demonic smoke reached the ceiling it exploded, consumed in a gaping maw of bright orange flame. A thousand voices of hell seemed to scream in unison, and Bonnie cried out, covering her ears as her nose and eyes began to bleed at the din.

The windows imploded, glass showering the room. Bonnie was lifted into the air and slammed twenty feet away by the shock of the blast, the grimoire flying out of her hands and out of her reach.

And then the room fell blissfully silent, and the demon was no more. It was done.

Bonnie groaned from her position on the floor and spat out a mouthful of blood. She had bitten her tongue.

That went well.

* * *

"Hi, Mr. Davenport. Yeah. I'm done." Bonnie grimaced as she looked over at Annabeth's prone form, slumped over her bindings in the middle of the extinguished circle. "She's… been better. What? Um," Bonnie scratched her head and screwed up her face, wincing when that further agitated her split lip.

"Well, to be honest, she lost a lot of blood. No, no, she's stable. She's gonna need stitches. And counseling. But… Oh. Well, healing's extra, you know that. Yeah." Bonnie sighed again. "Two hundred, flat rate, in addition. You sure? Alright. You remember I only take cash or check? Mhm. Yup. Good. You're wel-Yeah, of course. You're absolutely welcome, Mr. Davenport. Okay, see you soon. Bye."

She snapped the phone shut and placed it down upon the table with a slam, her jaw clenched painfully tight.

God. She hurt all over. Bonnie rubbed her right elbow, the one which had effectively broken her fall when the blast had thrown her like a rag doll across the room. Thankfully, she hadn't broken anything, but the fact that Anna's father wanted to add a healing element meant less energy that she could use for healing herself.

She stooped, about to start clearing the circle of candles when the phone beeped not once, but three times.

Bonnie frowned and spun around.

Bonnie blew out a calming stream of air through her mouth. As usual, this is what happened when she turned her phone off for two short hours. Her voicemail started to pile up.

Impatiently striding back to the table, she grabbed her cell phone and flipped it open.

Three missed calls. Two voicemails. Both from restricted numbers.

Bonnie gave her phone a look, then rolled her eyes as her curiosity got the better of her. She hit _voicemail_ on her speed dial and waited.

" _Two new messages. First voice message._ " The automated female voice sounded oddly comforting after hours of listening to the gravelly demonic distortion of Anna's passenger.

" _Hi Bonnie_."

That voice.

Bonnie's mouth dropped open.

" _It's Stefan. We used to be friends once, if you can remember that far back._ " He chuckled mirthlessly at his own joke. His voice was flat, even, and expressionless. Bonnie wondered how long it had been since he had turned the switch off, the switch that determined his access to human emotion and which had effectively started a downhill spiral that ended with his exile. It was three years ago if it was a day, but it seemed like a lifetime.

Stefan cleared his throat. " _I have something that needs… a certain skill set to address and I'm told you're still in the business. I thought I would drop you a line and see if you're willing to do an old friend a favor._ "

 _Yeah, right_ , Bonnie snorted to herself. _Old friend? Wrong choice of words, asshole_.

" _I know what you're thinking, Bonnie_ ," he continued, lowering his voice to a rumbling timbre, " _which is why I offer something to sweeten the deal. You work for cash nowadays, right? Well my benefactor is very interested in hiring the best of the best. I told him that meant you_. _Let's just say he's… familiar with your work._ "

Bonnie closed her eyes.

Dammit.

" _For this particular job, he's offering ten up front, fifteen more if you end up being what we need_ ," Stefan intoned blandly, as if he were commenting on the weather. " _And yes, that's twenty-five grand, not twenty-five hundred_."

Bonnie's mouth parted. Twenty-five _thousand_ dollars. Dammit, dammit, dammit. She could really use that kind of cash. She felt dizzy all of a sudden.

Bonnie pressed an unsteady hand to her temple and tenderly felt across her brow for cuts and bruises as she listened.

" _By the way, he's offering that 10-thou just for showing up. So… I suggest you do. Unless you intend to survive on fifteen-cent Cup o' Noodles and becoming a professional Dial-an-Exorcist for the rest of your college existence_ ," Stefan snickered on the other end, like he already knew the answer to that. " _That_ is _how you're paying the rent these days, right? Hm. Well. If you're interested, you know how to get in touch._

" _I'll be waiting_ ," he sing-songed. A _click_ , and the message ended.

Bonnie's heart dropped to her stomach as she realized what he had said.

How did he know all those things?

He was watching her.

He had to have been. Right?

Oh God.

The phone chirped. " _Next message_."

She could deal with Stefan later. Or never, hopefully. Bonnie worried at her lip and waited for the next message to begin.

Her shock deepened further when she heard what was next.

" _Bonnie, hi. Hi. It's… it's me_."

Bonnie's teeth clicked audibly together at the sound of that voice, all worry and shock about Stefan's message instantly forgotten in a sudden flare of anger. Her finger hovered over the _call end_ button but there was something in Elena's voice that stayed her hand. She swallowed and forced herself to listen, closing her eyes against the sudden headache she felt above her left eye.

" _Bonnie, I know that you said you never wanted to see me again. After what happened, I understood, but… something… something's happened, Bonnie, I—I can't—_ " There was a shuffling noise on the other end of the line, as if the phone were being handed over to someone else. Bonnie thought she heard the faint, soft sound of sobs before another familiar voice came on the line.

" _Bonnie. Yeah. It's Damon_ ," Damon sighed heavily, and when he spoke next it seemed as if he were choosing his words carefully. " _Bonnie, I'm sorry I—it's Jeremy, Bonnie. Jeremy's dead._ " Fresh wails interrupted in the background. Bonnie could hear Damon breathing hard through his nose, something he only did when he was extremely angry, or extremely upset. _"Just come home, for Christ's sake, Bonnie,"_ he muttered, his voice almost too low and hard to make out.

" _Just answer your goddamn phone and come home."_

There was a click and the line went dead.

The automated voicemail continued. " _End of message. To erase this message, press one. To hear more options—_ "

Bonnie slowly lowered the phone from her ear.

Calmly, she turned and hurled the thing across the room, where it shattered into pieces against the wall.


	2. A Vision Softly Creeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonnie returns to Mystic Falls. What she finds there is not what she expects.

Mystic Falls was dying.

She could sense it before she saw it. There was something in the air here, a slow, musty decay that keened and limped like a dying animal, unable to escape its fate. Or maybe that was just how she perceived it; Bonnie could no longer remember a time when she didn't have some extrasensory perception due to her abilities.

Whatever it was, it filled her with a sense of foreboding as soon as she drove into town. For one small, irrational moment, she was filled with terror, and was so preoccupied with the temptation to turn around right then and there that she almost blew right through a stop sign and caused an accident.

She sat there in her rental, chest heaving, hands clutching the steering wheel like a lifeline while she focused on breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

When she was convinced that she was able to drive again, Bonnie started up the car once more and pulled on to the road, searching for the bed and breakfast that would serve as her temporary home until her business was complete. It may have disturbed her, once, the fact that she was staying at some strange inn in a strange bed with strangers who knew her by name and face but not by heart. But her father's house was long gone, sold. Besides. She had no right to think that way anymore; she was no longer a resident here, and she hadn't been for a long time.

Mystic Falls was no longer her home.

* * *

Matt raised his hand, about to knock on the door, when it flew open. Caroline stood in the doorway, blond curls tied back in a demure ponytail, looking decidedly uncomfortable in her kitten heels and asymmetrical black dress. Her normally bright eyes were muted, her mouth set in a hard line even before she gazed upon his face.

Matt must have looked surprised, because Caroline gave him a soft smile and lifted one shoulder noncommittally. She pointed to her ears in explanation to his unasked question. "Vampire hearing," she reminded him. "I heard you pull up in the drive. Come on in." It never ceased to surprise him, her uncanny supernatural abilities.

Matt stepped over the threshold and into the Gilbert home. Caroline turned around and made her way back through the house in silence, leaving him standing there, probably expecting him to follow her in due time. He appreciated that. He wasn't really in the mood for small talk. Matt walked slowly down the hallway, purposefully avoiding looking at the various framed photographs hung on the walls, the reminders of a life none of them remembered anymore. He trod carefully on the carpeting lining the corridor to the kitchen, past the high school diplomas and the graduation photos, past the dead Gilberts that seemed to line the walls wherever he tried not to look.

He felt like he was walking through a mausoleum.

He found Caroline sitting at the worn kitchen table, nursing a glass of white wine and a contemplative expression. From the looks of the bottle sitting half-empty on the table before her, this was her third or fourth glass. She looked up, and, seeing his gaze trained on the wine glass in her hand, let out a half-chuckle.

"Yeah," she said simply, tracing a finger along the rim of the glass. "There's no way I'll be able to get through this sober, so if you're going to lecture me…"

Matt shook his head, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table as well. "No. I wasn't—" He gave her a grin. "You can do what you want, Care, you're a grown-ass woman." She cocked an eyebrow at his phrasing. "Well, you know, immortality aside. I was just… going to askif you were going to offer to share, or what."

A sneaky smile crept onto her face, and Matt returned it. _There_ was the Caroline he knew. He couldn't help but feel a glimmer of pride at having drawn her forth, even if only briefly. She pushed away from the table and busied herself with finding Matt a glass from the cupboard.

The muffled sound of raised voices greeted Matt's ears as Caroline waved a clean glass triumphantly in the air and then set it down before him. Matt looked up, listening as two voices, one higher-pitched and female, and one low-pitched and distinctly male, made themselves heard even over the sound of Caroline's inane chatter as she filled his glass for him.

A door opened upstairs and Elena's voice wafted down. "No, Damon. You don't get a say in this!" Her footsteps clacked along the hardwood flooring and her voice faded a bit as she made her way from the front to the back of the house.

Damon's voice was straining its last efforts at remaining calm. "I most certainly do, Elena. _You_ chose me, so I get to choose you!"

"You don't own me!" Elena shouted.

A door slammed shut and the sound of their argument was blissfully muffled.

Caroline grimaced, placing her fingers at her temple and letting out a stream of air through her pursed lips.

"They've been at it all morning," Caroline muttered to Matt, shaking her head and eyeing the ceiling. Matt could track the movement of the muffled voices overhead. They must be in Elena's room, if memory served correctly.

"Trouble in paradise?" Matt quipped snidely before he could help it. Caroline's face fell, and he instantly regretted it. He started to apologize. "Wow. Okay. Yeah, that was…"

Caroline held up a hand to silence him. She grabbed the stem of her wineglass and took a long draught. "Don't. Let's just discuss something else," she suggested, biting her lip. She gave the ceiling another agitated look after a particularly loud outburst, and then stood from the table.

"Maybe we could, just… outside?" Matt offered, and she nodded gratefully. Matt pushed his chair back from the table and stood, tugging his sports jacket and loosening his tie before following Caroline to the screen door in back.

* * *

"No. No. We are not having this conversation, Damon," Elena fumed, struggling to keep her voice at a reasonable decibel. She was bent over the vanity in her bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she tried to stab a pearl earring through her left earlobe. Her annoyance mounted as she missed, then missed again. "God. _Damn it_ ," she muttered to herself, trapping her tongue between her teeth as she tried to focus less on glaring at Damon's reflection and more on the task at hand.

Damon paced outside the bathroom door, forging a visible path into her carpeting as he walked with brisk, languid strides from her window to her closet, then back and back again. He was dressed in one of his numerous black suits, thick hair parted and combed away from his face, a face which occasionally betrayed the anger simmering just below the surface of his otherwise calm exterior. A tremor of his lips, the flicker in his eyes, a tick in his jawline—all evidence that Damon Salvatore was losing his cool.

It was happening more and more often lately.

"Well, get used to it, Elena," Damon replied slowly and smoothly in the tone he typically reserved for people he found to be incredibly stupid. Which, at this particular point in time, happened to be Elena. What a surprise. "Because we're going to keep having this conversation until you realize how right I am."

Elena missed the hole in her ear for the ninth time and hissed, slamming the pearl down on the countertop and spinning around, hair streaming behind her like a silk banner. Her hose-covered feet caught in the rug and she tripped, which Damon would have otherwise found comical but for the blazing look of fury upon her face when she finally met his gaze.

When Elena got well and truly angry, every feature in her face contorted into a mask of pure rage, not just beautiful but entirely and utterly terrifying to behold.

It reminded him of Katherine. Damon scowled at the thought.

He tried a different tack. "Elena," he begged. The pain in his voice was genuine. "I can't lose…" He faltered, but steamrolled on. "I can't lose someone else I care about. Not after everything that's happened."

Elena rounded on him. "Don't you _dare_ try that on me! You think _you_ hurt, Damon?" Her thin pink lips were pinched in a straight line, doe-like brown eyes darting back and forth between his own. "You think I don't hurt too, that I don't know what you're talking about when you say you've lost _everything_? We lost _together_ , remember?"

He opened his mouth to reply but she cut him off before he could get the words past his lips.

"I _bleed_ , Damon," she yelled, not bothering to keep her voice in check anymore. Her eyes crackled with electricity as she stalked out of the bathroom to stand in front of him, cutting him off and blocking his path to the window. She thrust a bony finger up in his face and jabbed sharply with each syllable. "I _die_. Every time someone leaves me, I _die_. I've got nothing left. _Nothing_. I'm all that's left, Damon. A shell. Some hollow, shell of a thing who has _nothing_ and _no one_ left!"

His anger spiked. _You have_ _ **me**_ , he wanted to remind her. But he had the feeling that meant very little to her at this particular moment.

Damon smiled, although it probably came out wrong, judging by Elena's horrified expression. "Fine, Elena." He threw up his hands. "Fine! What do I care if you go out and get yourself killed tomorrow, just like Jeremy did?"

Out of nowhere, her hand whipped out and slapped him across the cheek with a deafening _CRACK_.

Damon growled. "Why is it every time I say something you don't like, you slap me? You think you can beat the truth away, Elena?" He advanced on her.

She reached up to slap him again and he caught her wrist and bent it, bent it until she cried out. "Elena," he ground out in a warning tone, "Don't hit me again."

Her other hand flashed up in his peripheral vision, and he caught that one too, gripping it tightly and holding both her wrists at arm's length. She struggled against him, wriggling her hands and wrists even though his grip was bruising. She pushed against him; he pushed back harder.

They stood face to face, chests heaving as if they were running a marathon, each one as determined as the other.

"Kiss me," she demanded, and he did.

She never failed to take his breath away, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. He never had to think around her, he never had to do anything but _feel_ and it was so beautifully simplistic that all he wanted was to hold her closer, kiss her deeper. So he did. She melted under him, as she always did, and her hands found their way to his shirt and suddenly they were shedding clothes and stumbling over to the edge of her bed.

He knew this dance well, so he took the lead at first, guiding her body back down onto the cool duvet of her mattress while he gently dragged the zipper of her dress down her back. The straps slid from her trembling shoulders and he pulled with one fluid motion, descending upon her exposed breasts as soon as the fabric left her skin. Her pantyhose stretched and tore, shredding to bits under his impatient administrations. Her hand sought, finding him hard, straining against the waistband of his pants; he gave an audible sigh of relief as she undid the button and slid her hand down into his briefs. He shuddered, bucking into her palm as she grasped the heavy length of him and ran her thumb over the weeping tip of his cock. She bit her lip, eyes trained on his as she finally guided him to her slick wet folds, so ready, always ready to feel him deep within her. His lips found hers, capturing her gasp as he thrust inside of her, painfully, sinfully slow, rocking against her until she wept and cried out hoarsely through her tears. Her orgasm came hard and sudden, and her short fingernails bit into the skin of his back as he began pounding furiously into her contracting heat in earnest, until he, too, collapsed on top of her, utterly spent.

They laid in silence for a few moments, until their breathing evened out and Elena had stopped crying long enough to gather her thoughts. She lay beside him, staring blankly up at the ceiling with red and puffy eyes as she started to speak.

"Do you know what the last thing I said to him was?" Elena murmured against Damon's chest, gaze fixed upon a crack in the spackling of above her bed. He tightened his grip about her shoulders and rested his chin upon her hair, shaking his head slowly in response.

"I said—" Her voice caught, so she cleared her throat and tried again. Her words came out husky and waterlogged, and without thinking Damon reached up and placed a cool hand against her cheeks to trace away the tears before they fell.

"I said to him, 'Don't come back until you fix yourself, Jer.' I said, 'I don't have the patience to deal with your bullshit anymore. Don't come back until you're fixed, or I don't ever want to see you again.'" Elena caught his hand with her own and gripped it tightly, a tear trickling down her cheek. Damon pressed his lips to the moisture and smoothed back Elena's hair, unsure of what to say.

Elena's hands threaded through the blanket covering the bed, wringing it so tightly about her fingers that her fingertips started to turn blue.

"What kind of sister tells her brother to 'fix himself'?" She choked out. "What kind of sister tells her kid brother that he's no longer welcome in his own home, with the people he loves?" Her brow furrowed and she shook her head slowly. " _I_ should have fixed him. _I_ should have taken care of him. I _knew_ he had problems. He was my responsibility and I just… I just…" she started sobbing again, deep powerful cries which wracked her whole body head to foot. "I just _let him go_!"

Damon thought for a moment, listening to Elena's shuddery sobs and rubbing her arm. "We have to let a lot of people go eventually, Elena," he replied after a lengthy pause, stroking her hair. "You can't protect everyone."

That only seemed to make her sob harder. Damon _tsked_ and rolled his eyes.

He settled for patting her back and running his fingers through her hair, rubbing the velvety locks between his fingers and shushing her gently. Her skinny little shoulders, always so delicate, looked fragile enough to break lately. She hadn't been eating. She hadn't been sleeping.

He shouldn't blame himself, but he did.

He was used to it, the blame. He could handle it.

Elena, however, couldn't.

It would break her.

"Come on," Damon whispered into her hair, shaking her shoulder gently. "We have to get going."

"I don't want to," Elena gasped through her tears. "I don't."

"I know," Damon hugged her tight. "But we have to. He's your brother."

_He's your brother._

* * *

It seemed that Death just couldn't get enough of Mystic Falls those days. The pale horse and rider had done carnage to this town, Bonnie knew, the kind that even Time would be ill-suited to repair.

Jeremy Gilbert's funeral was at sundown, not that you could tell from the skies. The weather, as if sensing the solemnity and sorrow in the air, dutifully cast a dark, mournful shadow over the proceedings and by the time the eulogy began, the sky opened up and torrential downpours threatened to drown out the brittle voice of Father Riley. The crowd was large, surprisingly so; Bonnie wondered how many in the sea of black suits and grave faces actually knew Jeremy at all, or if they were just here because they felt some sort of sick sense of duty to attend the funeral of one of their own, not that they had ever treated him as such when he was still alive. Bitterness filled her, and she abided.

They felt guilty, all of them. Complicit in this somehow, even though it was not by their hand that he had died, so brutally and so alone. That was the only reason why they were there, Bonnie knew. All the gawkers, all the townsfolk who had treated him like a pariah in his last years, who had given him the bottle to drown his sorrows in with one hand and covered their ears with the other, as blind and deaf to his depression as they were to their own despicability. They were only here to see buried the wayward son, the loner whose fate could have been prevented _if only they had paid more attention to him_ , _if only they had seen the path he was going down and stopped him_ … only then could they have saved him. _If only. Such a shame,_ they could be whispering behind their hands. _Such a handsome boy. He used to have such promise._

 _What happened?_ They most likely debated in hushed tones behind closed doors, with solemn expressions and shaking heads, clucking like hens as they did so. _What happened to Jeremy Gilbert?_

 _**You** _ _did._ _**You** _ _were what happened, Bonnie Bennett._

The whisper came to her unbidden, and Bonnie's head whipped around, half expecting to see some contemptuous, shrewish old townie lurking behind her, wrinkled lips pursed as she cackled into Bonnie's ear, spewing poison from her tongue.

But that wouldn't make it any less true. Not that they would know any of the truth of it.

Thunder boomed somewhere in the distance, close enough to shake the ground with its throaty rumble, and the people in attendance flinched at the sound. A few people grimaced up at the sky, clearly rethinking their pious intentions to attend the young Gilbert's service in the first place.

"… All gathered here today to remember the life of a son, a brother, and a friend." Father Riley paused in his speech to turn the page of his Bible with a sopping finger.

Bonnie leaned against the oak tree and watched. Every so often the wind would shift direction and bring uphill with it sharp, heavy droplets of water with impatient, clammy fingers. The rain stopped mere inches from her skin, repelled by the barrier of her magic, beading like water upon oilskin and then sliding silently in rivulets to the grass beneath her feet.

Below, Caroline clutched her slippery umbrella tightly in her grip. From her vantage behind, it was near impossible to tell for sure, but when the blonde's shoulders began to shake in earnest Bonnie knew that the tears had begun. Matt—good, sweet Matt—snaked an arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently. Elena and Damon stood to their right, huddled under a single black umbrella, arms touching. Bonnie tried not to let her annoyance build at the sight of them, but it was a slippery slope she trod. Instead, she allowed her gaze to float away from the two, back to the Father's longwinded speech on the goodness and kindness of a man whose only fault was that he cared too much.

That part, at least, was true. Jeremy did care too much. He loved too hard and too fast, fell too quickly and too deep. And he lost. He lost so much, and then more. And he could prevent none of it. The helplessness that he must have felt…

She didn't realize she was crying until the taste of saline coated her lips, dripping down her face in a steady stream.

The sky heaved and the Father was forced to cut his speech short. Bonnie watched, blinking through stinging tears as the grieving next of kin, the only kin, stepped forward, head bowed, to throw white poppies onto the coffin front. The flowers dropped like anvils onto the cherry wood of the casket before listing to the right over the slick wood and plunging into the black; Bonnie bit the inside of her cheek, somehow disturbed by this. A single, soul-shattering wail dredged its way up Elena's throat as she looked down into the dark, muddy abyss that would be her brother's final resting place, as if it finally hit her that this wasn't like before. Jeremy would not be coming back to life. He had no ring to protect him this time, no loving girlfriend to sacrifice her powers and her life for his.

Bonnie's eyes narrowed as Elena swayed, her knees buckling. Damon stepped forward from where he stood at a respectable distance and caught her arm, hoisting her back to her feet and allowing her to lean on him as he half-carried her away. Her cries raised the hairs on Bonnie's neck, and she was thankful when Damon began to lead her away from the crowd of people, out of sight and out of hearing.

Damon stopped suddenly, ears perking as he sniffed the air. His eyes widened and he turned, head whipping around to face the oak tree on the knoll above the grave site. Elena shook in his arms, but thankfully she stayed silent, tears sluicing down her cheeks.

"What is it, Damon?" she managed, wiping her eyes with the back of one hand. "Damon?"

Damon shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind. He was imagining things now. He cast a reassuring smile down at Elena, giving her shoulders a squeeze. "Nothing. Come on, let's get out of here. I hate cemeteries."

* * *

She waited for hours, until the workers were done, until the sod was planted fresh and until every last straggler had disappeared from the premises, before making her way forward. The rain had finally stopped about an hour ago, leaving in its wake a chill the likes of which could only mean winter would be coming early this year. She stumbled down the slick grass of the hill and cursed softly to herself as her arms pinwheeled in an attempt to keep herself upright. She finally skidded to a halt at the foot of the hill and sighed, not quite sure if she wanted to go any further. It seemed like a much more feasible task from atop the knoll, but now that she was mere feet from his grave she wasn't sure if she could do it.

 _You owe him_ , the voice whispered through the chill. _You owe him that much._

And so she steeled herself and went.

"Oh, Jeremy," Bonnie whispered sadly to herself, crouching down to kneel at his headstone. She smoothed her palms over her skirt and sat back on her haunches, glancing up at the dark sky. She ran one hand through her hair, tucking the wayward strands behind her ear, and allowed the other arm to drop down, fingers skimming along the tips of the blades of grass, drop of water flicking up as the stems bent and straightened under her touch.

" _So_ nice of you to stop by," a snide voice commented.

Bonnie flinched, then whipped her head around to see the silhouette of Damon Salvatore, leaning against an old granite obelisk twenty feet from Jeremy's grave.

He stepped forward into the moonlight, the silver lighting casting his features into stark relief.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. Black suited him; the tall, lean cut of the formal attire clung to his body like a lover, and the loosed tie and unbuttoned shirt gave him a look of calculated debonair, a look that he all but invented. His looks, of course, had not faded with time, and in fact he seemed to be more handsome than ever, which provoked her ire. Why was he allowed to remain untouched by all of this, while the rest of them bore forever the marks of their trials?

Bonnie seethed. She wanted to say a lot of things, but what spoke best was silence. So her mouth stayed closed.

Damon took her silence as an invitation to step closer.

"So, what, you thought you'd just stop by, give the ol' fresh-churned-earth a good pat goodbye, then disappear from time and space like always?" Damon asked, blue eyes glittering accusingly beneath his dark fringe of hair.

Bonnie stood, brushing off her knees. She began walking away, cursing when her heels sank into the soft, newly planted sod. She closed her eyes for a second but the sudden wind at her back told her where he had gone. She knew without opening them that he was standing before her now, so she halted, blinked, then swiftly changed direction, hoping to beeline around him. She was stopped when his hand shot out and gripped her forearm painfully tight.

"Where do you think you're going? Hm?" Damon breathed, lip curling. His even white teeth gleamed in the twilight. Bonnie refused to look at him, eyes looking down, up, side, side. Anywhere but his face.

He snapped his fingers before her nose and she started. His words stumbled into one another like drunken frat boys, and his breath smelled of scotch. "Hey! Look at me when I'm talking to you, Bonnie!"

He reeked of drink, and she decided to tell him as much. "You stink, Damon," Bonnie finally sighed, looking up into his electric blue eyes with a resigned finality that gave him pause. "Go home, take a shower, fuck Elena and go to bed. You'll forget about this in the morning, and by then I'll be long gone, I promise."

She took a step past him but he still did not let go of her arm. Instead he twisted it tightly until she could no longer help the hiss of pain that escaped her lips. And still she did not hurt him back, though she could kill him as surely as blinking.

Because deep down, she felt that maybe she deserved this, a little bit. He deserved to make her feel, and maybe to make her hurt, too. Someone had to do it.

Damon tugged and she went, her back slamming hard into his chest as he twisted her arm tightly into the small of her back, the other snaking around to encircle her shoulders in a viselike grip. His hips jostled her backside and she stumbled, heels once again sinking into the soft earth. Damon's chest brushed against her shoulders in time to his breaths, and his lips found her ear. She shivered.

"Do you think I could just forget, Bonnie?" His tone was dangerously quiet, and what little slurring there was in his voice had vanished without a trace. "Do you think I know how to _forget_? Don't you think I _want_ to?" His words stirred the hairs on the nape of her neck and she went still as he slid a hand up her arm, rubbing a thumb along the skittering pulse there.

Bonnie tried to turn to face him, and he let her, removing his arm from around her shoulders but not letting go of her forearm. She wanted to glare up at him, to shout or hit him or fry his brain with her magic until it dripped out of his ears. But the fight left her when she looked up at the expression in his wide eyes, eyes hard and shining beneath a drawn brow. The unadulterated rage there was startling; the raw beauty there was breathtaking. He was so beautiful it hurt. It _physically_ hurt her to see. She had forgotten what that ache felt like in her heart, but as she gazed upon it for the first time in years, the wounds opened anew, and she bled fresh and in earnest. Her mouth fell slack-jawed and, not for the first time in her life, certainly not the last, she was struck dumb by the sight of Damon Salvatore.

Damon's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, eyes roving her face hungrily before settling on her lips. His free hand reached out and slowly, gently… he pressed the tips of his thumb and forefinger to her face, just skimming along her jawline with a touch lighter than a feather. Her body flared with warmth at his caress, her pulse jackhammering under her skin. The wonderment in his gaze as he looked upon her was almost childlike, and Bonnie could not tear her eyes away from his face, from the full spectrum that flashed across it in those milliseconds when their skin touched.

Bonnie reached up and trapped his fingers with her hand, gently removing them from her face. And yet somehow she couldn't bring herself to let go, not yet.

" _Fuck_ , Bonnie," Damon breathed, eyes falling closed. He bowed his head, pressing his forehead against her own, and she let him. Dark veins snaked across his eyelids and cheekbones and she could feel him begin to shake. "You think I can _forget_? I would give _anything_ to just forget you," he told her in a pained murmur. She felt his breath fan out across her lips as he drew closer.

Her mouth parted.

When she opened her eyes again, the cemetery was quiet, and she was alone.


	3. The Vision That Was Planted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unwelcome visitor interrupts Bonnie's troubled dreams.

_She walked through a beautiful field, filled with swaying poppies of white and gold. She was barefoot and cloaked in smoke and light, and it took her a moment to realize that it was_ she _who was illuminating the field before her, she who was the source of light towards which the flowers bowed. The sky was a fiery crimson and it churned rapidly, clouds roiling and swelling, then diminishing, and repeating again like a film in time-lapse. The sight discomfited her, but somehow she was not afraid. Something brushed against her feet, and she looked down. The flowers grew; the flowers wilted; the flowers died and their seeds fell, tumbling like glittering jewels from the shivering husks in rapid descent. Before her eyes, they turned into bright green little slashes of leaf even before their roots took hold of the rich black earth beneath her feet._

_She heard the dripping of water by her right ear, loud and cavernous, and she flinched away from the noise. She whirled around to face the sound, a perfect pirouette of singular motion. A hallway loomed dark and silent before her now. She gasped, could hear it echoing in the black like some harsh, sentient thing, and she swiveled her head around desperately. But it was too late, and now the field was gone like a wisp of memory. Bare wall met her gaze in its stead and then it was like she was always there, in that hallway, but she just couldn't remember how. When had everything changed? Her glittering dress of smoke and light dimmed at the thought, tendrils of grey caressing her body as they slid down her back, dropping to her ankles and rolling off them in silent waves. She swallowed and turned back to face the corridor, dread filling her blood with leaden unease. She began to walk, bare feet whispering across the uneven roughness of the floor beneath her._

_The hallway seemed… off, somehow. Was it slanted, or was that just her imagination? Doors lined the hallway on either side, dusty and drab and uniformly the same indeterminate shade. Light filtered under the cracks of some of the doors, and under others fog rolled out, beckoning with smoky filaments. Water trickled from under some, cold and slick and foul; black slime oozed out from under the doorway of another, bubbling and frothy and unfathomably dank. Other doors still remained dark and unyielding, neither light nor smoke nor any other element issuing from within. For some reason, those were the doors that Bonnie feared the most. And from all of them, all, came the sound of whispers. They came to her faintly at first, hushed and furtive, so much so that she had to strain herself to hear them. She could not make out what they were saying._

_She didn't want to._

_But what was behind them? Bonnie paused in front of one door, hesitant. She cocked her head to the side and looked down at the doorknob, a sense of giddiness running through her even though she heard a voice whispering to her over and over "Don't. Don't. Don't." The word punctuated the dead space of the air around her like the jarring strokes of a typewriter, swift and definitive._

Don't.

Don't.

Don't.

_It took her a moment to realize that the words were her own, that she was the one whispering them to the darkness and the void. She did not know why she did so, and yet at the same time she did know, or suspected._

Don't. _She watched as her hand moved of its own accord, fingers shimmering like a mirage before her gaze as they reached out to touch, just to touch._

Don't. _The voice was insistent. Her breath faltered in her throat. Or was the other way around—that it was her throat grasping her breath in a viselike grip, preventing it from escape?_

 **Don't.** _Her hand brushed the cool finish of the metal doorknob, the sweet contact of hot flesh and cool element._

" _ **AAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!"**_

 _Like the fabric of the cosmos rent apart, something behind the door issued a blood-curdling_ **scream**.

 _It was unlike any other sound that Bonnie ever heard. The door_ heaved _beneath the force of it, bowing and rippling like a sheet caught to wind, the roars shaking the wood paneling against its frame. Splinters showered over her as the door rattled at such speed that it vibrated in place; it as if whatever was on the other side of the door was trying to break free, and deep down, with the dawning horror of a child, she realized that was exactly what was taking place. The screams undulated, echoing throughout the hall like a crescendo, louder and louder and louder still, distorting and bending and multiplying like a living creature, sharp enough to pierce and piercing enough to draw blood. And it did! The door wept with it, dark, thick crimson rivers of it gushing across the paneling and rushing to meet her, to consume her—_

_She turned and ran, and darkness overtook her._

* * *

For a moment Bonnie lay awake, not daring to move.

The darkness pressed up claustrophobic against her eyes like a black shroud and for one dreadful, heart-stuttering moment she feared that she was still asleep, trapped in a dream-world where space-time and light-dark had no meaning. It took her a few moments to remember where she was, and how she had gotten there.

It seemed like the funeral and her encounter with Damon had been the segue to her bad dream, and this side of the other it felt wrong somehow, like days and months had passed in between that time and now. She sometimes dreamt of that too; dreamt that she was Sleeping Beauty, having awoken from her hundred-year-long slumber only to find the world soft and silent, a vast emptiness forgotten under a layer of dust, and very much alone.

But that was not her dream tonight, no. Tonight was different.

Bonnie's pulse was pounding in her ears and her tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of her mouth. She was drenched with sweat, her covers tossed askew over her shaking form, indicating yet another night of restless sleep. She had a lot of those lately. Came with the job, or so she told herself.

She lay still for a moment, eyes squeezing tightly shut, willing herself to remember what she had dreamt. She remembered bits and pieces—a door, a field, light and smoke and the _fear_ , oh, the fear that tasted metallic on her tongue, even then—but the rest was just a fading memory, curling away to sooty nothingness like bits of burning paper scattered to the wind. Bonnie tried harder to recall the dread she had felt, interspersed with those moments of sheer and utter calm, as only dreams could induce. With a heavy sigh, her eyes flicked open once more. No use trying to remember something that didn't want to be recalled.

But it had felt so real. That much, at least, she could say.

Running a still-trembling hand over her face, Bonnie reached out in the darkness to fumble for the alarm clock by her bedside. Her fingers brushed against the cool plastic as Bonnie swiveled the device until she could read it. The red illuminated face shone brightly into her maladjusted eyes, searing the numbers **3:11** into her vision even as she clapped a hand over the alarm clock to dim the glow. Realizing how early it was, Bonnie groaned, sinking back into her pillows and resisting the urge to cry.

Of course she wouldn't be able to sleep. By rights, she shouldn't be sleeping, not after everything that had passed.

Instead, Bonnie threw the blankets off her body and sat straight up in bed. She turned her body until her feet were hovering over the cold wood of the bedroom floor. Before she alighted on the oak, she hesitated, a habit that she couldn't quite rid herself of even after twenty-one years. Ever since she was a child, she always hated this part: the three-second icy shock of one's bare foot making contact with the frigid floor below. Bonnie had long ago invested in a pair of slippers to counteract this phobia (and it was just that—an irrational fear of cold floors… laughable, of course, considering what she faced on a daily basis), but, unfortunately, she had left them back at her dorm, five states and a six-hour car ride away. In that moment, it felt like another life, college; like she was just playing pretend. The sad reality was that no matter how hard she tried to pry herself away from Mystic Falls, its shadow seemed to be cast over her regardless of where she fled.

Scrunching up her face, Bonnie gingerly leaned forward and pressed the ball of her foot onto the floor below. It was unpleasant and freezing, as always. Snagging the throw blanket strewn across her bedspread, Bonnie wrapped the fabric about her body and padded her way towards her bathroom, en suite as per her request. She cast a wary eye out the window as she passed it, taking in the darkness and the stars, then looking idly down to the street below.

What she saw made her do a double take, heart leaping to her throat. Every sense flared to life and Bonnie's grip loosed in shock, the throw slipping from her shoulders to pool at her feet. Without thinking, she threw herself to the wall beside the window and pressed herself up against it, praying he hadn't seen her.

But she knew better.

The balmy autumn air disturbed the sheer white drapery covering the open window, and the gauzy fabric fluttered slowly towards her like a dancer. Light from the streetlamp below cast a yellowish hue into the room, and she edged away from it instinctively, biting her lip. Bonnie took a deep breath, heart thudding, and slowly lowered herself until she was resting lightly on her knees. Leaning forward, she allowed her eyes to crest the bottom of the window sill in order to peer down at the street below.

The street was deserted, save for the lone, tall figure that had occupied a corner of her darkest thoughts of late.

She should have known he would find her.

Stefan Salvatore, as still and silent as the shadow he embodied, stood bathed in the harsh glow of the streetlamp, gazing up at Bonnie's window.

He was standing with the light at his back, which cast his face into darkness and made it difficult to see his features. She did not know how long he had been standing there, but as soon as she looked at him, she regretted it. A sudden jolt ran through her and she knew without a doubt that he was now looking _directly_ at her with those dark, impenetrable eyes of his.

She frowned. Casting a net out mentally, she probed for his conscious, for any sign of familiarity that she could coax out of him, and in turn any information she could glean from that simple telepathic touch. Instead, as she reached out, her mind slipped and lost tread, as if coming into contact with something smooth and refractive, like a mirror. This repelling force bounced her back, but not before her mind slid up against something cold and silent and completely alien. Instinctively, Bonnie recoiled, breaking the connection with a gasp.

As if determining that he had sufficiently gotten her attention, Stefan cocked his head to the side. She could see his half-smirk, half hidden in shadow but for the gleam of his teeth, all the way from her vantage at the window. He blinked once, and then turned, walking away in a fluid, predatory gait that she did not recognize in him. Her eyes followed his retreating form as he walked all the way to the top of the street, turning around the corner and disappearing completely from her sight.

Bonnie recognized a summons when she saw one.

She dressed in the dark, slipping into her running shoes and throwing on track shorts and a hoodie, which she salvaged from the spartan pile of clothes she had brought with her for this trip.

Bonnie faltered by the door, biting her lip. Even with her magic, following the likes of Stefan into the dark was especially stupid without some kind of protection. Letting out a weary sigh, she doubled back and crouched down by her suitcase. Unzipping it once more and reaching inside, she felt all the way down to the bottom, parting her neatly folded shirts and jeans. Her fingers encircled the newly acquired artifact she had packed with her and she lifted it apprehensively from the depths of her suitcase. The scarce light that filtered in through the windows illuminated the carved ridges along its sides, the runes and various inscriptions flowering from end to sharpened end. Bonnie held the dark wooden object reverently with both hands, bowing her head in a silent prayer to whatever ancient entities had possessed this relic before her.

For it wasn't just anything she held aloft in her grasp.

This was one of nine stakes carved by one of the first hunters of vampires, Jonathan Harker, passed through dozens of hands throughout the ages until it finally found its way to Bonnie.

The blood of hundreds of vampires, according to legend, was what stained the wood the unnaturally black color it now held. Bonnie's grip tightened around the stake and she stood. She was hoping to break it in on a vampire somewhat more… worthy, to be quite honest. But, Bonnie decided as she slipped the thing in the waistband of her sweats, if it came to it, she would have no hesitation in stabbing Stefan's cocksure little smirk off his face with the thing.

Lord knew he deserved it.

* * *

Bonnie's rapid footsteps echoed loudly into the night and she winced, slowing to a brisk walk. She knew that stealth was pointless when it came to a vampire, but still, the _idea_ of the element of surprise was an appealing one. Once outside she realized just how chilly it was; she hugged herself tightly and ran her hands up and down her arms, fighting a shiver despite her sweatshirt.

She turned the same corner she had seen him disappear around and skidded to a halt. This couldn't be right. The street was a complete dead end. No houses, no buildings of any sort, just overgrown weeds beyond a concrete barrier that, from the looks of it, had long been forgotten. And a lone streetlamp, sickly orange light flickering like a firefly as she drew closer. Of Stefan, there was no sight.

Bonnie hated games. What was this? Where the hell was he?

Luckily, her guesses were cut short.

She didn't have to turn around to know that he was behind her. The way her body reacted was indication enough—the natural defenses that she had learned to refine as a witch, the simple honing of Sense and Sight which gave her an upper hand in close proximity to other supernatural beings. Her whole body tingled, somewhere between a shudder and a shock, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up like hackles on a dog in his presence. And she could _smell_ him, oddly enough. Not his aftershave, although he hadn't been sparing with that either, but something older, and distinctly… _Stefan_. She couldn't describe it.

"Stefan," she uttered, back still turned to him. The word escaped from her almost involuntarily, as if vocalizing his name was some sort of incantation to make his presence an immutable reality.

"Bonnie." He acknowledged. His tone was conversational, but Bonnie knew better. Every word exchanged with a vampire, especially a vampire like Stefan, was as double-edged as a knife, and they were wielded in much the same way.

She shifted her stance carefully, feeling the weight of her concealed weapon heavy and reassuring against her back. Something about the sight of Stefan filled her with an irrevocable rage. The stake calmed her somewhat.

"Long time," Bonnie returned, bobbing her head in acknowledgement.

That earned her a low chuckle. "Too long." Stefan replied, although his tone suggested otherwise. His boots made barely a whisper across the macadam as he circumvented her at a leisurely pace, circling her like a buzzard would its next meal. She hated having him at her back, and she fought the urge to whirl around and face him, instead allowing herself to be inspected.

Stefan finally stopped before her and for the first time in years, Bonnie got a good look at the younger Salvatore.

He was different. Of course he was _different_ , but it wasn't an obvious thing that she could quite pin down, not at first. His hair was the same, light brown locks still coiffed in that gravity-defying architectural dome of mousse and male secrets. He wore the same kinds of clothing, which she supposed always suited him, really: worn leather jacket, simple white tee shirt, dark jeans that probably cost more than her college tuition, heavy shitkickers—the perfect balance of metrosexual and distinctly rugged that only someone like Stefan could pull off.

Bonnie saved his face for last, not sure if she could handle what she saw there. She was right about that.

His face was the same as before, of course—beautiful, chiseled, and angular like some Grecian god statue freed of his marble entombment—but where his eyes once held life and kindness, now instead simmered a rage and cold calculation in his stare that almost made Bonnie take a step back upon meeting it. It cemented everything she had known but not felt, not truly believed about him until now.

Old Stefan—he was as dead as Jeremy. This new Stefan, this Ripper Stefan… he was in control now. And, from the looks of it, he had been pulling the strings for a very long time.

Bonnie's lips tightened into a thin line. This was starting to look like a very bad idea in hindsight.

"How did you know I was here?" Bonnie asked at last. It was an idle enough question, but she made sure to watch his face very carefully. Old Stefan was a terrible liar. She was curious to see how New Stefan compared.

"Jeremy's funeral, obviously," Stefan's voice was curt, clipped, and efficient, as if he were listing off items on a grocery list rather than discussing the death of one of their—well, just her now, she supposed—loved ones. "I knew you would find some way to slip into Mystic Falls just to pay your respects," he recounted, fixing her with a flat stare.

Bonnie shrugged as if to say, _go on._

Stefan sighed and rolled his eyes impatiently. "You're still on the outs with Elena, so staying at the Gilbert house was out of the question. You weren't sure where Caroline's allegiances lie, and you weren't going to impose on Matt. And Damon…" Bonnie's eye twitched at the mention of his brother's name, and Stefan's lips quirked with a smile. It shadowed rather than lit up his face, and Bonnie swallowed, officially unnerved. "Well, we all know how that would turn out. Plus, you hated the idea of having to see everyone again. So you went to the oldest, closest-to-the-outskirts bed and breakfast you could find, registered under a different name, and hoped that you could skulk away the morning after the funeral. Sound about right?"

Bonnie just stood there, mouth open, unable to process. She wasn't sure what she felt at this moment: anger and fear, sadness and caution all formed a cacophony of emotion inside. She settled instead for folding her arms tightly across her chest and shifting her stance once more, cocking one hip to the side as if she hadn't a care in the world.

"So," Stefan continued, satisfied he had shut her up for the time being. "I assume you remember my little… proposition on the phone? Care to discuss?"

"Why the actual _hell_ would I do anything to help you?" Bonnie burst out hotly, a dark scowl contorting her features.

He blinked languidly down at her, that infuriating smirk still plastered to his equally infuriating face. He learned from the best of course, and Bonnie could see traces of Damon in that smirk of his. It only made her angrier.

"Because I have something you want," Stefan said simply.

Bonnie laughed in his face. "You have no idea what I want, Stefan. None."

Stefan stepped closer, his tall frame dominating hers, and she shrank away from his proximity. She could feel the warmth of him radiating in waves off his body and she clenched her fingers into fists at her sides, resisting the urge to grab the stake at her back and use it to remind him of a little thing called personal boundaries. He was never really good at that. _Good to know some things don't change._

Stefan regarded her carefully, those slate eyes of his searching every inch of her face like it was a map. His smile was gone now, and Bonnie dared not breathe.

"I might not know what you want, Bonnie," Stefan spoke at last, leaning so close to her now his face filled the entirety of her vision, "But I know what you _need_."

The last word took on a low, rumbling timbre and something in Stefan's eyes stirred to life. Bonnie frowned up at him, recognizing a look that she had seen on his face only in the presence of Elena, or fresh blood.

It made her numb at the sight of him. She backed away slowly.

She didn't like Stefan like this, unpredictable, clearly unhinged. But then again, after everything that had happened that summer, the summer that changed everything… Who could say if she was in the right and he in the wrong? What gave her the right to judge? At any rate, she had given him his fifteen minutes. She wasn't impressed with what she had seen and heard so far.

"Goodbye, Stefan," Bonnie turned and started walking away. "Pray for your sake that we don't meet again."

"Bonnie," Stefan intoned. His voice was back to the plaintive, dulcet murmurs that reminded her of Old Stefan, Kind Stefan, Stefan from Before.

Bonnie cursed herself as she felt her feet slow to a stop. That wheedling tone of his had always succeeded in making her do what he wanted and he _knew_ it. The bastard knew it so well. Bonnie whirled around to face him, livid, mostly at herself for lapsing into who she used to be around him: pliant, willing, easily swayed.

"Would you believe me if I told you that you were a powerful medium?" Stefan asked Bonnie suddenly, tenting his fingers and puckering his lips against their tips.

"I'd tell you that you were stating the obvious," Bonnie replied smoothly, trying and failing to keep the condescension out of her tone.

"But am I?" Stefan responded indulgently. "Something tells me you don't know your own potential."

"I know enough to get by, Stefan," Bonnie reminded him. "I gave all that up, remember? And now you're asking me to dive right back in, I assume? For _you_ of all people? Give me a fucking break, Stefan. You're just wasting our time."

"Then why did you follow me tonight?" Stefan asked simply. He ran a hand through his spiky hair and fixed her with a slow smile that seemed wrong somehow on his face. "You could have just… gone right back to sleep."

_Yeah, like I could go to sleep knowing a confirmed sociopath and blood addict is roaming around outside my window at night. Sure._

Bonnie let out a sharp breath and squeezed her eyes shut. "Beginning to wonder why myself, actually," she muttered under her breath. She leveled him with a sharp stare, emerald eyes glittering. "I just don't like being stalked, funnily enough. Figured I'd tell you that in person. And look at that! Mission accomplished. Time for me to go back to bed and pretend that all you are is a very bad dream."

Stefan reached out and grabbed her arm with crushing force. Warning bells went off like klaxons in her head.

It was second nature to her by now, mere muscle memory, so it was no surprise to her when one minute she was being yanked forward by Stefan and the next she had one hand gripping Stefan's hair and bending him back painfully at the neck, the other pointing Harker's stake directly at Stefan's jugular.

"You don't what to know whose stake this is, Stefan," Bonnie breathed, tone dripping with venom as she traced the wooden weapon against his Adam's apple. "Let's just say he was friends with a guy named Van Helsing, and that he pretty much wrote the vampire slaying manual."

She expected fear. Or, at the very least, respect. She wasn't at all prepared for Stefan's reaction to this information.

Stefan laughed. _Laughed._ With a stake pressing dangerously into his throat. Like it was something he did every day. Like it was a joy to do so. Like he was more worried about grass growing than he was about the ancient power aimed at his neck.

Bonnie bit back the temptation to take him right then and there, just barely. Instead she dug the stake further into the pale skin of his neck, smiling in sick satisfaction when she drew a pinprick of blood.

Stefan only laughed harder, hands raised in a submissive manner. "You haven't changed a bit, Bonnie," he chuckled, genuinely filled with amusement at her little show. He eyed her and continued to laugh, as if she was the best damn joke he had heard in decades.

Bonnie allowed her lips to curve into some facsimile of a smile, and whatever Stefan saw in her face made his laughter falter.

Suddenly, in one fluid arc of motion, Bonnie removed the stake from his neck and rammed it up, hard, into Stefan's gut. Giving it a savage twist, she let go and pushed him back with a flick of her wrist.

Stefan let out a broken cry of pain, keeling over like a felled tree. Blood seeped out between his fingers as he gasped, unable to draw breath, hands scrabbling at the stake sunk almost clean through his abdomen.

"You're right, Stefan," Bonnie mused cheerily, tapping her chin with her finger. She knelt down and, with a vicious yank that made Stefan grunt hoarsely, she pulled the stake free from his body with a sickening squelching sound. "I haven't changed a bit."

Bonnie reached out and wiped down the sides of the stake on the front of Stefan's white v-neck shirt, and then leaned back on her haunches, admiring her work. Stefan sank to his side, wheezing, hand still pressed to the gaping wound glistening garishly in the harsh light of the streetlamp. Doubling over, he coughed violently and then spat out a thick mouthful of black blood.

"Why…" Stefan ground out, eyes darting from the bloody mess of his stomach to meet her gaze. "Why is it taking so long to heal?" Gone was the tone of calm, replaced instead with something closely resembling panic. Bonnie wondered how long it was since he felt that particular emotion.

"What, this?" Bonnie tapped the wound with the butt of the stake, Stefan's gasps of pain music to her ears. "I told you whose stake this was. Do you really think it didn't come with some extra—what was it your brother calls it? Witchy woo-woo?" She stood upright, smirking down at him as he bled out onto the cracked pavement before her.

"It'll heal… eventually," Bonnie continued, unable to keep the regret out of her voice. "But in the meantime I suggest you invest in some ACE bandages or something. Wouldn't want to bleed all over Klaus' nice upholstery when you go running back to him."

Stefan grimaced up at her wordlessly, unable to keep the surprise out of his face, visible even through the pain.

"What? You didn't think I could see right through you? Isn't it Klaus who you're working for these days?" Bonnie sneered, contempt lacing like poison through her words. "What was the deal he gave you so that you would work together? Revenge on the world that wronged you? Your brother's head, or maybe Elena's magical doppelganger vagina for your own once more? Both?" She laughed harshly. "What did you give him in return, Stefan? Did you have to fuck the promise out of him? Everyone knows Klaus always had a complete hard-on for you, that's probably why he welcomed you back with open arms in the first—"

He was in motion before she had even finished her sentence. All she saw were his eyes, dark, veined, and terrifying, and then…

 _Don't._ Her world turned into a blur and dimly, she registered that she was flying through the air before— _ah, bless_ —the trunk of a tree was kind enough to break her fall. She could only half hear the resounding _crack_ her head made when it collided with the immovable object, but it must have been impressive because immediately, her world began growing smoky around the edges. A ringing sound filled her ears.

 _Don't._ She couldn't move. Not one limb responded to her efforts. _Oh god._ Blinking blood out of her eyes, she saw Stefan appear before her, one hand still clutching his ravaged stomach, the other hand wrapped around the stake she had held in her grip not seconds before. He seemed twice—no, fifty times his size as he loomed over her, twirling the stake through his fingers and smirking down at her feeble form, as she had done to him only moments ago. Her mind sluggishly tried to process—how was he even _standing_? That stake should have immobilized a vampire like him.

 _What_ _**are** _ _you, Stefan?_

 _Don't._ Vaguely, and at long last, Bonnie realized that she should be afraid, very, very afraid of the man standing before her now. His blood dripped in streams from his tattered shirt front, mingling with her own. His eyes were black slits as he stared down at her with bared, pointed teeth. She wanted to run. She wanted to fight. She could do neither. He leaned in closer. Closer.

 _ **Don't.**_ But then her eyes rolled into the back of her skull, the world fell black and silent, and Bonnie Bennett worried no more.


	4. Restless Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stefan's proposal turns threatening, and the Woman turns her attentions towards another key player in the game.

He had been in town for less than twenty-four hours and already he was bored out of his fucking mind. What had he ever seen in this place, that he would have called it home? Sometimes, he didn't have a clue.

No. That was wrong. He did know why, exactly why.

He just didn't give a shit anymore.

Stefan paced. Outside, the sky bled faint oranges and bruise-like purples as the sun made its faithful trek above the horizon, one degree at a time. Dawn had come quickly after the rather unanticipated events of earlier that morning, and with it came the dewy scents of grass and leaves, which he could smell even from his vantage inside her room. The faint beginnings of sunshine filtered into the small bedroom almost furtively, dodging the shadows and flecking the hardwood floor with amber stripes trained through the slats of the half-drawn blinds. Dust motes glittered as they fell lazily through the air, and outside the mockingbirds began calling to each other in throaty chirps. From beyond closed doors, life continued.

And still Stefan paced. The floorboards beneath his boots creaked as he passed over them, and yet she did not stir. It could be awhile, he figured. Each person was different.

She had been half-dead by the time he was through with her. It had been so long… he had forgotten that she was just as fragile as the rest of them, despite the awesome power her body housed within. As it were, he wasn't sorry for what he did, even though he had probably overreacted a bit. She _did_ stake him, though, and ruined one of his favorite shirts in the process. That smarted a bit, naturally, and the urge to hurt her back, hurt her _more_ was something that overrode any initial orders he had been given.

His temper was not something he bothered to hold in check anymore.

And he enjoyed it. Oh, he enjoyed making her hurt.

Stefan forced out a sharp stream of air through his nose and pursed his lips, stopping mid-stride to allow a glance at the witch who had been forcibly re-integrated back into his life—against either of their wills, it would seem. She was sprawled across the quilted counterpane of the bed where he had unceremoniously dumped her limp body only hours earlier, having forced the lifeblood that animated his own body past her unresponsive lips. Now she lay there, almost serenely, as if she had simply been sleeping all this time. Her hair, dark and longer than he remembered, fanned out in a wavy halo about her face and shoulders. Her forehead was still matted with blood, but the gash had sealed long ago. Her eyes were closed and no longer sunken, long lashes dusting her high cheekbones like feathers. Some of her pallor had lessened, and her pulse was stronger. Stefan could hear it acutely, like a drumbeat just under the warm, soft expanse of her skin.

Her internal injuries were taking longer to heal. Spine, ribs, damaged brain, organ failure… the works. And, unfortunately, vampire blood only worked so fast. Luckily, Stefan had over a century to learn to be patient.

He flinched when his phone rang, shattering the silence with a tinny jingle that set his teeth on edge. Across from him, Bonnie's breathing steepened into a more rapid pace, but she still did not wake. Breaking his gaze from Bonnie's prone form, Stefan cast an annoyed glance around the room, isolating the source of the sound and moving towards it. The phone was in the left pocket of his leather jacket, which he had cast aside onto the old-fashioned armchair in the corner of the room upon entering it. Feeling around inside the coat, Stefan retrieved the phone and read the caller I.D.: **BLOCKED**.

Stefan rolled his eyes and hit _accept_. "What?" He snapped, gripping the phone tightly between his fingers as he held it to his ear.

"Oh, you know bloody well _what_ , Salvatore," Kol retorted sharply, accent elongating his vowels as he spoke. "It's been thirty-six hours. You do realize my brother doesn't like to be kept waiting, or are you just as thick as you make out to be?"

Stefan cast one last dark look at Bonnie's sleeping form and walked over to the bathroom, shutting the door with a smart snap and locking it behind him. He didn't need the light to see, but he turned the switch on regardless. Force of habit. The harsh fluorescent lighting set a gaunt cast across his visage, which he stared at for a few moments in the mirror before leaning against the sink and running an aggravated hand down his face.

"What's taking you so long?" Kol pressed. There was an edge to his voice beyond the regular animosity that he held for Stefan, something that indicated an urgency which wasn't there before. "Do you have the witch or not?" The way he said it made him sound like a petulant child. Stefan bit back a snort.

"Yes. I have her," Stefan acknowledged with decided disinterest. "I tried talking with her. She wasn't amenable."

There was an impatient sigh on the other end of the line. "Well, be more _persuasive_ , then," the Original replied, sounding like he was gritting his teeth. "Oh, don't tell me Stefan Salvatore has lost all of his charm?"

"Don't be snide, Kol, it'll give you wrinkles on that baby face of yours," Stefan rejoined icily. "Tell him I'll be there with the witch in due time, and to prepare for our arrival. Oh, and Kol?"

"Hm?"

"Tell your brother that next time, he should get another lackey, or do his own dirty work himself. I'm not a courier service," Stefan smiled darkly into the phone and then disconnected the call, not bothering to wait for Kol's reply.

* * *

"Bonnie."

She stirred, head swiveling instinctively away from the noise. She knew she did not like that voice, or its owner, whoever it was. God, she just wanted to sleep forever, there in the dark.

" _Bonnie_ ," the voice insisted.

It was murmured low and hushed, almost amused, the voice familiar enough that the emotions she felt upon hearing it made her pulse jump start, adrenaline flooding her system. Something soft and cool traced along the contours of her face, a fleeting sensation so quick that she was sure she had imagined it, if not for the way her skin reacted to the touch: an instant flare of heat that spread to her neck and chest like molten lead.

Her eyes flicked open, pupils contracting painfully as they were met with the now bright sunlight filtering in through the filmy sheers of the window curtains.

" _There_ she is," Stefan smirked in satisfaction, patting her forehead twice as one would a dog. He then sat back, crossing his arms and watching her, unblinking, with his glittering grey eyes.

It took her a few moments for her to realize who, exactly, was sitting at the foot of her bed. Then Stefan's face swam into focus and with it, all the memories from last night. With a horrified gasp, she shot up out of bed, scrambling up against the wooden headboard while simultaneously swiping her right hand across her body with a snap of motion. In response, the lamp sitting on the nightstand flew off and whipped towards Stefan with force, cord sparking as it was yanked viciously from the wall socket. Stefan calmly raised his arm to block his face, and the lamp collided with him, the glass base shattering and showering them both with shards of colored glass.

Bonnie was moving. She hurled herself off the bed and stumbled to a stand, but as she staggered forward a wave of nausea and dizziness made her double over, tripping over her own feet and falling to her knees, wheezing and trying not to retch. She crouched there, panting and blinking desperately, trying to clear her vision. She crawled slowly towards the door; with a wave of her hand, the latch unlocked and the door swung open with such momentum that the doorknob embedded with a crunch into the wall behind it. Her magic was haywire, all over the place; she couldn't get a good grasp on it, and the pounding in her head only got worse the more she tried. Her vision swam in and out of focus even as she blinked furiously to correct it. She tried to call out, but she barely had energy enough to draw breath, let alone speak.

Stefan watched with indifference as Bonnie struggled to pull herself to her feet. He lazily began plucking pieces of glass off of his shirt and pants, flicking them to the floor with distaste as he waited for her to tire herself out. By the time she made it to the doorframe, he had finished brushing the leftover bits of lamp out of his hair. He cracked his knuckles and stood languidly. And then, with barely a whisper of wind to betray his presence, he appeared at Bonnie's back. She froze, chest heaving, facing the open doorway—her freedom—as Stefan slowly smoothed one hand over the nape of her neck and squeezed once, gently. A warning.

Stefan frowned as a niggling itch grew at the back of his brain. It took him a few seconds to realize that Bonnie was trying to give him one of her aneurysms. He blinked in surprise at the sensation, so different from before, and a broad smile graced his lips in response. He let out a low chuckle and was pleased to feel Bonnie quiver beneath him, some intoxicating combination of exhaustion and fear that he could practically taste like an aphrodisiacal elixir on his tongue. Leaning over Bonnie's slight frame, Stefan tugged on the door, which came free in a shower of drywall. Dragging Bonnie back by her neck, he kicked the door shut and pulled her backwards further into the room, pushing her into the armchair with a little more force than was necessary. Bonnie toppled, headfirst, into the cushioning.

Stefan towered over her, crossing his arms over his chest, muscles rippling beneath the black cotton of his shirt. Bonnie righted herself in the armchair and fixed him with a simmering glare that made her green eyes crackle with unbridled fury. Stefan fixed her with a dark, hungry smile that carved into his handsome features like a wound. Bonnie met his gaze. There was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ behind those eyes of his. The realization, like so many she had recently witnessed in this new Stefan, made her blood run cold.

"Sorry about the bends," Stefan began, tone making it clear he was anything but. "I know you're probably feeling sick right now… With your body in the state that it's in, your powers are not going to work properly. You were banged up pretty badly; it took a lot of my blood to heal you." Stefan cocked an eyebrow and inclined his head towards hers slightly. "You're welcome, by the way. If it weren't for me, you'd be a paraplegic vegetable right about now."

Bonnie's face contorted into rage, cursing her body for feeling so weak, and her powers for seemingly having no effect on him. "If it weren't for _you_ , I wouldn't have needed any blood in the first place!"

Without warning, Stefan's hand whipped out and smacked her across the face with a _crack_ that echoed throughout the room. Bonnie couldn't help it; she let out a cry as her face exploded in a blaze of pain. The entire left side of her head felt numb, and her ears were ringing as her eyes welled with tears. The salty taste of blood coated her tongue and she knew her lip was split.

"Bonnie, Bonnie, Bonnie," Stefan sang, leaning down on his haunches to face her and reaching out to cup the cheek he had just slapped. Bonnie knocked his hand away. The empty grin slid off his face with alarming speed, replaced again by the emotionless mask that was somehow even more unsettling. "From now on, be a good little _witch_ and don't speak out of turn." He said the word _witch_ as if it were something filthy. "That was a warning. We clear?"

Bonnie growled, feeling along her lip and cheek tenderly with her fingers, but otherwise stayed silent. Stefan tapped her nose with his finger and stood to full height once more. "Good girl."

Suddenly, there came a quiet knock from the door, and both Stefan and Bonnie turned to face it. Stefan gave Bonnie a look that clearly said _stay_. Bonnie bristled. She did not like being treated like some sort of unruly pet under control of Stefan's leash. She was tempted to set him on fire, just for the hell of it, but unfortunately her powers were still not rejuvenated, and forcibly calling upon them took energy that she did not yet possess. She couldn't risk using them right now. It seemed, for the time being, she was trapped.

Fantastic.

Stefan turned and strode over to the doorway in efficient, decisive movements. He opened the door and smiled when he saw the frail old Mrs. Jackson, owner of the Mystic Falls Bed and Breakfast, clutching a tray filled to overflowing with continental-style breakfast food. Her wispy white hair framed her lined face, giving her a frumpy, yet grandmotherly, appearance. She was so tiny that she couldn't have weighed more than 90 pounds soaking wet.

"Oh, there you are, dear," Mrs. Jackson blinked up absentmindedly at him, thick glasses slipping down her nose. "I see you found your runaway fiancée. Oh, I _do_ hope you two made up. I brought you both some breakfast since you missed the buffet brunch."

"Thank you so much, Miss Jackson. That was very thoughtful of you. And may I say that you look positively glowing this morning," Stefan smiled charmingly down at her. Mrs. Jackson tittered and shook her head as if to say, _oh, stop_.

At the sound of Mrs. Jackson's voice, Bonnie craned her neck around Stefan to try and get a better look at her.

"Mrs. Jackson? Help me! Please!" Bonnie cried out. She stood up from the chair, ignoring Stefan's threats, and waved to get her attention. "Run! Get the police!"

Mrs. Jackson just smiled blandly at her and held the tray of food out to Stefan, who took it with a gleaming white smile. She then stood there, eyes wide and blank for a few moments, before closing her mouth and pressing a wrinkled hand to her forehead. "Oh, goodness," she said apologetically, frowning at Stefan. "I almost forgot." She reached slowly into the folds of her apron and pulled out a large, sharp-looking butcher's knife, the blade easily as long as her forearm. The knife gleamed wickedly in the light of the sun streaming in through the bedroom window. When she spoke, her words were directed towards Stefan, but her eyes were fixed on Bonnie's. "Would you like me to do it now, dear?"

Bonnie's heart leapt to her throat and her eyes darted in between the elderly woman and Stefan frantically.

Stefan calmly stepped more fully into the room and placed the food tray down on the wrinkled bedspread before replying. "Not now, Miss Jackson. But, would you be so kind as to hold on for a moment? My _fiancée_ and I have some matters to discuss." He managed to tell the lie beautifully; his tone was airy and light when he spoke and he even tossed an affectionate look at Bonnie for good measure.

Mrs. Jackson simply nodded, smiling blandly, and stood there at the doorway with the knife held by her side in her slightly tremulous grip.

Bonnie turned her horrified expression to Stefan. "What's going, on, Stefan? Tell me now, or I swear—"

"You swear what, exactly?" Stefan cut in, eyebrows rising in earnest. "Please, do tell. Were you going to run? Or are you going to try and give me an aneurysm? Because that worked out _so_ well." He was satisfied to see frustration creep into Bonnie's expression at the mention of her latest failed magic attempt. "Or perhaps you were hoping to stake me again?" Stefan reached into the waistband of his jeans and pulled out Harker's stake, which he twirled between his long fingers tauntingly. Shaking with anger, Bonnie bit the inside of her cheek to prevent her from doing anything stupid, like punching Stefan in the face just out of sheer spite.

Instead, Bonnie thrust her chin in Mrs. Jackson's direction. "How long has she been under your influence? Last night? This week?"

"Two years," Stefan smirked around his words, watching with satisfaction as the color drained from Bonnie' face.

"Wh—what?" Bonnie sputtered, shock and confusion roiling around inside of her. She clutched her stomach, feeling queasy again. "Why would—? That makes no sense!"

"It makes perfect sense," Stefan replied, shaking his head like she was being purposefully obtuse. "Dharma here—and may I call you Dharma, Miss Jackson?" He cast a glance over at the frail B&B owner, who turned and nodded blankly at him, all expression gone from her face now that she was no longer being engaged in conversation. "Anyway, Dharma here is one of our several eyes and ears in this town. She and a few others help us keep an eye on the situation here in Mystic Falls, and give us updates from time to time, that kind of thing. When she got wind of a certain prodigal daughter making an appearance in town once more, well…" Stefan trailed off and winked at Mrs. Jackson. "She called me up right away. Lucky for me."

"Lucky for you," Bonnie repeated hollowly, reaching behind her, feeling for the armchair. She sank slowly into it, staring out into space and processing. She clenched and flexed her fists repeatedly. "You said you had 'several eyes and ears' here. Who else? And who's working with you?"

Stefan _tsk_ ed and waved a finger at her. "Not relevant, Bonnie. I need you to focus, because this is important. I need you to come with me. Now. We're going to take a little road trip." He bent over the food tray and plucked a few strawberries from the fruit dish, pressing one to his lips and sinking his teeth into it slowly. Bonnie tore her gaze from his mouth and shook her head, slowly at first, but then more firmly.

"Absolutely not. No. A thousand times, _no_ ," Bonnie crossed her arms. "What the hell, Stefan? What part about 'over my dead body' don't you understand?"

Stefan swallowed and licked his lower lip, catching the sweet juice from the strawberry with a flick of his tongue. He tossed the stem carelessly onto the tray and leveled a hard gaze on her.

"Firstly, I don't think you understand how applicable that poor choice of words could be right now. And secondly, my employer has upped the timetable. I was willing to let you think you had come up with the idea of accompanying me all by yourself, but I don't really have the patience to play mind games. So," he finished the last strawberry and clapped his hands together, "You have a choice. Pack your witchy effects and hit the road with me _now_ , or watch as the lovely Dharma here goes through each and every room in this house and kills every single guest at the Mystic Falls Bed and Breakfast while I make you watch."

Bonnie's mouth dropped open. Her eyes fell on Mrs. Jackson, who brandished the knife at Bonnie with a sweet little smile still plastered to her aged face.

"No," she breathed.

"Yes," Stefan reminded her, now eyeing the pineapple slices in the fruit dish with interest.

"Well," Bonnie's voice trembled and she cleared her throat, "What makes you think I care?"

Stefan snorted and gave her a look that clearly indicated what he thought of that remark. Running a hand through his unruly hair, he stretched and sighed, cracking the vertebrae in his back as he did so. Pointing a finger at Bonnie's half-opened luggage, he said, "You have half an hour to eat, dress, and pack. I'm going to take a shower."

Bonnie opened her mouth to argue. Stefan's eyes blackened and veins traced along his cheekbones and brow. In barely the blink of an eye, he was upon her. For the second time, his hand closed tightly around her neck, her pulse skittering along his palm. He ran his thumb along it instinctively, tracing the pathway that housed her blood. Her skin was hot, almost feverish to the touch, warming his hand upon contact. He leaned in towards her, snarl hovering somewhere around his lips.

"Don't try anything characteristically valiant and stupid, Bonnie," he reminded her, speaking around his fangs. His breath fanned out across her face, sweet-smelling and utterly unlike the foul words he uttered. "Or Miss Jackson will start with the family of four in the suite right next door to your own. Nice family. A little boy and girl. Couldn't be older than ten years, each. You will never be able to erase their screams from your mind."

The hysterical laugh that escaped Bonnie's lips sounded more like a sob. "You're a monster," she choked out.

Stefan blinked, and for a moment something flashed through his eyes. Bonnie glared stonily up at him, but there was no amount of fury she could put in her expression that could match that which she felt in her heart for the man—no, the _animal_ —standing before her. The air grew thick and hot between them, palpably so, and she struggled to breathe with his viselike grip around her throat. But then the moment passed, and Stefan's face slowly relaxed. Stefan gave her a small shake and then released her.

"That's the idea," he murmured, turning away from her and heading towards the bathroom, which shut with a slam.

Bonnie sank back into the armchair, shaking, not trusting herself to do anything but breathe.

* * *

She had lost track of time.

That, of course, was long before she had lost track of reality. Sense and sight had no meaning to her, not when they could be manipulated so cruelly. She had screamed her throat raw hours, maybe years, ago, screamed until all that escaped her lips was a low, uneven whine that broke forth from her cracked and bleeding lips like a death rattle each time she drew breath.

She had known pain throughout her life, and she had endured it. But nothing in her entire existence on this earth had prepared her for this. This was more than just corporeal punishment for her sins, she knew—it was a spiritual comeuppance, a flaying of the soul that could bleed and feel just like the rest of her spent body.

She had long ago given up hope of finding mercy in death. She had called upon every deity and devil she knew, called out to her mother and her father, her enemies and her friends, had broken down and cried out in broken Bulgarian and incoherent babbling until her voice went and her lungs failed her. Every sensation was a new torture to be met: the weight of the shackles around her wrists and ankles, cutting raw into her skin and binding her to the damp stone floor; the putrid smell of charred flesh— _her_ flesh—that hung heavy and gagging in the noxious air she breathed; the sound of dripping, dripping, dripping, the source of which lay maddeningly just beyond her sight.

Faintly, she could make out the sound of footsteps clicking back and forth outside her cell. Her ears perked and she listened, straining, but the woman's aura was very powerful. The words that she did make out came to her scrambled, impossible to understand somehow, even though she knew that she was hearing them exactly as they were spoken.

"So you're absolutely sure you found her? Good. Mhm. Excellent work," the woman's voice rang smooth and clear as glass, and the prisoner shuddered to hear it. Groaning, she shifted her position on the floor so that one ear was turned towards the cell door. A tangled, matted curl fell across her face but she ignored it, listening, trying to make sense of the words that were being spoken. It was extremely difficult; the magic warped and reversed them in her sluggish brain, leaving it up to her to decipher what was truly being said.

The woman spoke quickly. "Well done. I want you to tail them." The heels went _click click click_ across the stone floor, echoing loudly as she paced outside. The woman's tone took on a sharp edge that made the prisoner flinch away from it instinctively. "Do _not_ lose them. Have I made myself clear? I—"

The pacing stopped.

The moments ticked by achingly slowly in the ringing silence and the prisoner's breathing began to quicken. Dread pooled slow and acidic in her belly.

The woman on the other side of the door chuckled. It was a low, insidious thing, and it echoed in the prisoner's mind long after the woman stopped giving voice to it. "It seems my guest is lucid once more," she said, her elation clearly apparent even through her magically-garbled words. "Call me as soon as they arrive. I expect a full report. You know the consequences should you fail me."

There was a curious snap of plastic on plastic, and the prisoner knew that the woman had ended the call. The footsteps neared the door and the hinges protested loudly as the great oaken thing was pushed open.

The woman strode into the chamber, looking slightly flushed, a small smile making her thin red lips stretch taut across her cheeks like a bow. The woman fixed the prisoner with a delighted expression, rubbing her hands together.

"So, Miss Katerina, where were we?" Her voice was music to behold. "I do apologize for that rude interruption. I had some business to conduct, as you probably overheard."

The woman snapped her fingers, and the sconces within the chamber sprang to life once, flames licking the thin air tentatively. Katherine winced at the sudden brightness. The light illuminated the woman's features, allowing Katherine to see her full beauty in the warm glow of torchlight. For she was, truly, beautiful—the kind of beauty that did not truly exist in nature. It was impossible to tell her age; sometimes she seemed a youth, other times as old as time, but for all the wisdom in her eyes she might have passed for scarce a year over thirty. Her hair was some profane shade of crimson, so red that fire itself paled in comparison to its lusty hue. It spilled in heavy silken ropes over her ivory shoulders, falling just short of her waist and emphasizing, in turn, the pale column of her regal throat. She was tall and waiflike, easily a head or so above Katherine herself, but her slim form contradicted the strength in her limbs, which Kat was foolish enough to underestimate in the beginning. The woman's face was angular, and something in it was too striking to be mere human in its design; no, her looks were otherworldly, as harrowing and awe-inducing as the power she wielded with so grave a sense of duty.

Somehow, the sight of the beautiful woman was enough to trigger memories of the past several hours, the painful torture she had undergone under this woman's administrations. Katherine bit back a shuddery gasp and writhed in her chains from her position on the dirty stone floor of the cell.

"Please," Katherine whispered to her tormentor, fresh tears spilling down her dirty cheeks as she begged. "Please, don't kill me! I've answered everything you asked! Please!" Her last words were choked out in a sob.

The woman turned her appraising stare upon the quivering vampire once more, lost in thought.

"Anything, I promise. I'll do anything," Katherine swore, looking up at the woman with plaintive brown orbs. She closed her eyes as the woman neared, fat tears squeezing out from under her eyelids and dripping down her face to mingle with the dust and the grime of the chamber floor.

"You will deliver a message for me," the woman decided, tapping a perfectly manicured nail on her cherry lips. "Do this, and I will free you completely."

Katherine wept gratefully, body sagging in relief at these words.

"As it were, I have business that will keep me here for a few more days. You will go in my stead. Do not stray from your path, or I shall sense it," the woman promised, black eyes glittering beneath her stern brow.

"I won't, I promise. Thank you," Katherine whispered to the beautiful woman. She wasn't sure she remembered how to smile, but she tried anyway, looking up in adoration at her merciful Mother. Her tears still fell, but they were tears of joy. They tasted the same as they coated her lips.

The woman closed her eyes and raised her arms to the heavens. She whispered a few words that Katherine did not catch, but they were clearly words of power, for the air sparked with it, raising the hair on Katherine's arms. The flames flickered madly in their sconces and the air pressure in the chamber dropped sharply as smoke began rising from the flickering torches on the wall. Great trails of it, dark and sooty, wafted towards the woman's outstretched palms, coalescing into a tight black ball above her head. The woman reached into the smoke and spoke a few more words, then pulled out something glinting and sharp. The smoke evaporated and the torch flames stilled, spell complete.

The woman turned towards Katherine, who sat there on the floor, mouth agape at the display. In the woman's hand, a long knife shone. It glowed in the dark, giving off a faint orange hue, as if it were a hot poker recently removed from the fire. Katherine shrank instinctively away from it as the woman approached.

"This will hurt you," the woman promised, beautiful mouth turned down in sorrow at the thought. She rolled the hilt around in her grip as she spoke. "But it will ensure that you are victorious in your efforts."

"Please, no more." Katherine could barely get the words past her swollen lips. More tears leaked out unbidden at the thought of more pain at this woman's hand, and it took her a few moments to realize that those pathetic, mewling whimpers she heard were coming from her own throat.

"I'm so sorry, my child, but it is a necessary thing to be done," the woman apologized sympathetically, red hair shining like blood in the harsh torchlight. She reached out a pale arm and pressed a cool hand to Katherine's cheek, a gentle, soothing sensation that the vampire could not help but lean into. The woman's touch even seemed to draw some of her pain out of her body, like poison being drawn from a wound. Katherine sighed and gazed up through wet lashes in appreciation at her Mother, whose kind smile radiated down to her like the warmth of the sun.

And then knife descended, and Katherine found that she could, in fact, still scream.


	5. Narrow Streets of Cobblestone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A roadtrip with Stefan leads to danger. Damon does some sleuthing and makes a shocking discovery that may very well mean danger to everyone in Mystic Falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey. Hi. Yeah. Wooooo. So, ah, this is awkward.  
> Um, I’m back on this fic now, sorta. Yay, I guess? I know it’s been, like, decades since the last update (only seven months or something. What?) and everyone (including myself) kind of gave up on this but, like I said, I needed time to think about my writing and this fic, in particular.
> 
> Lots of time, apparently. Woops?
> 
> But now I’m back, at the very least with this new chapter. I’m on my fall break now, so I’m literally sitting down in front of my laptop, tuning out everything and everyone, listening to RainyMood (awesome website, you should check it out if you like listening to rain while you write) and churning these bad boys out as much as I can. Hope you’ll forgive me for the hiatus, and hope you like the latest installment. The plot thickens! I think?

Damon slammed his car door with such force that the car rocked on its wheels. With a hissing squeal that set his teeth on edge, the glass cracked, spiderwebbing into thousands of tiny planes before, with a sound like a sigh, shattering into a rain of finely powdered dust. He cursed as glass showered the driver's seat and covered his feet with glittering shards. The shining pieces winked up at him in the sunlight, refracting the beams of light so earnestly that for a moment Damon forgot to be angry and just stared at the prism of colors. Then he shook himself off, glass tinkling as it fell out of the folds of his jeans and the crevices of his boots. He barely resisted the urge to kick the side of the car for good measure. Knowing his luck, a slight tap from his foot would be enough to blow up the vehicle, sensitive as it seemed to be today.

Sometimes, having vampire strength was just really fucking inconvenient.

Attempting to rein in his simmering rage, Damon straightened, closing his eyes and waiting for composure to settle on him like some faithful, sobering shroud. He combed a hand through his thick, black hair, sweeping his fingers down his face to scratch at the days-old stubble on his cheeks.

He was chasing shadows. Mystic Falls… she was supposed to be here. She was _supposed_ to be _here_. Why wasn't she here?

He had done everything short of turning the entire town upside down looking for her, for a trace of her, anything that could give him a clue that would lead him to where she would be, all without alerting the rest of the town to her presence. What he got instead was nothing but a headache, a dull throb in his chest, and a shattered driver's-side window. He should have known that she would have left as quickly as she had come; Bonnie was like a rock skipping across the pristine surface of a lake, barely touching but leaving ripples behind that spread, spread until it was as if the lake was never still at all.

He had meant it when he told her he wished he could forget.

Squinting up through his lashes, he gazed at the sloping gables and rustic wraparound porch of the Victorian bed and breakfast he was parked in front of. It was the last place on the endless list of places he had to check. His hope, what little of it he'd had when he first set eyes on her after so many years, had been running on fumes for the past several hours, and he was pretty sure it was about to be snuffed out.

From the street, the eccentric, historical house looked like something from the front of a postcard; from its beige-and-black color scheme, its slightly uneven, yet charming brick walkway, the manicured landscaping, and the cheery petunias swinging from pots affixed to the porch, the Mystic B&B had certainly cleaned up nicely compared to the dilapidated excuse of a shack it had been in previous hands. Damon would know, having seen the house in all its incarnations over the years.

A sudden, brisk wind from the east snaked its chilly fingers around his throat in a vice and he shivered, eyes flicking to the tops of the trees surrounding the house, which were beginning to turn the blushing reds and throaty golds of a reticent autumn. Damon grimaced, turning up the collar of his jacket with a deft flick of his wrist and starting his trek up the street towards the bed and breakfast.

As he made his up the sloping drive, his gaze lingered on a car parked out front in one of the guest spaces. Damon blinked, taking in the out-of-town plates in a cursory glance. Then he turned, trotting up the brick walkway and taking the porch stairs two at a time.

* * *

"We're being followed."

It was the first time she had spoken in over twenty-eight hours, and Bonnie flinched at the sharp flint-edged sound her own voice made, piercing the gossamer silence that had lain over the two of them for the past ten hours of the car ride. Her voice was a harsh, flat, impersonal version of what it used to be—from disuse, perhaps, over the past two days; or, more likely, from the nightmares that woke her up each night, screaming her throat bloody while Stefan's cool laughter settled about her ears like down. The nightmares were only made worse when she realized they weren't dreams at all, but in fact a very real and present reality, personified in the living, breathing nightmare sitting next to her at present in the driver's seat.

Stefan drummed his fingers along the steering wheel of their car, eyes flicking back and forth between the stretch of highway before them and the rearview mirror. His mouth was fixed into a grim line, but his only response to Bonnie's statement was the slight flare of his nostrils as he trained his eyes on the road ahead of them.

Bonnie's fingers dug into the underside of her elbows as she fought to keep her impatience from seeping into her body language. Every interaction with Stefan was a struggle to contain her anger, which, unlike her still-defunct powers, flared up at the slightest provocation. Or lack thereof, since Stefan refused to acknowledge the presence of his increasingly agitated captive.

"Did you hear me, asshole?" Woops. Bonnie winced internally. That one sort of slipped out before she could help it. "We've got a tail." She jabbed her thumb behind them.

Stefan finally decided to join the conversation, clearly deducing that it was his best chance of shutting her up. "I know," he replied simply in his best monotone. "They caught up with us in Xenia and have been tailing us ever since."

" _What_?" Bonnie's voice went up an octave. All the way back in _Xenia_? That meant they'd been following the two of them since early yesterday evening. "Couldn't you shake them, or something, y'know…" She waved her hand vaguely at the road. She resisted the urge to picture Stefan gunning the engine of their Impala, Dwayne Johnson-style, and _Fast and Furious_ -ing their way down the interstate until their pursuers were two twin specks of headlight in their rearview.

Stefan fixed her with a look that, while mild, nonetheless pinned her to her seat with its intensity. His eyes, twin slate depths, seemed to churn like liquid crystal as she watched them apprehensively.

"I've tried to lose them. These guys are smarter than I originally thought," he explained, enunciating as if speaking to a senile old man. "I think… They must have switched cars last night while we stayed in Peoria. I wasn't sure it was them in the Sebring this morning, but now I'm certain."

"Who are ' _they_ '?" Bonnie pressed him. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of her window, squinting at the car's reflection in the sideview. "What aren't you telling me, Stefan?"

Stefan looked Bonnie dead in the eyes. "You're a commodity that's in high demand right now," Stefan said plainly. His mouth turned up slightly in a facsimile of a smirk, as if he enjoyed referring to her as an object and not a person. "Now, be a good witch, will you? Shut up and let me do my job."

Stefan calmly turned on his right turn signal and merged into the slow lane. Bonnie's gaze slid to the side mirror, and she watched as the black Chrysler waited no longer than two minutes before smoothly merging into their lane two cars behind.

"What are you doing?" Bonnie asked after a moment, unable to help herself.

Stefan gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white. Bonnie leaned back, expecting him to explode any second. Instead, he let out a long stream of air and pasted a quick smile to his face. The effect was predatory, and Bonnie was ill at ease at the sight of it.

"You hungry?" Stefan finally asked, throwing up the blinker and pulling off the nearby exit.

"No," Bonnie started to say, before her stomach gave one embarrassingly loud and defiant gurgle.

Stefan snorted. "Right. Let's eat." And that was that.

Bonnie slumped in her seat and watched the black Chrysler trail behind them. She prayed that Stefan knew what he was doing.

To the west, the sun began its slow descent in the sky, and the clouds began to darken.

* * *

The foyer smelled divinely of apples and cinnamon.

Damon's footsteps creaked on the old floorboards as he moved further into the inn, taking in the quaint furnishings, the threadbare Oriental rug, and the porcelain rooster of questionable taste resting on the authentic mantelpiece.

Damon strode towards the front desk and slapped his hand down on the bell. Silent as a ghost, Mrs. Jackson appeared out of one of the side rooms almost instantly, as if she had been waiting for his arrival.

"Hi there, Mrs. Jackson. How are you this fine afternoon?" Damon's toothy smile felt out of place and awkward, but he kept it plastered to his face regardless. He was out of practice with his basic pleasantries, but luckily Mrs. Jackson didn't seem to notice.

In fact, she hardly seemed to notice _him_ , despite the fact that he was standing right in front of her. Her frail, twig-like body seemed like to snap with the force of Damon's gaze, which he managed to pin directly to her face, ready to read every emotion that would cross it. However, at this moment, her face was passive, and her smile seemed as fake as his own as she blinked curiously up at the wallpaper behind him through her thick spectacles.

"Why… Damien Salvatore? Is that you?" She smacked her lips and squinted, running her hands along the front of her rooster-print apron. Damon sensed a theme.

"Why, you haven't aged a day," she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else.

Damon's eye twitched slightly at 'Damien,' but his grin did not falter. "And may I say the same about you, Miss Dharma? You look absolutely lovely today," Damon returned winningly, eyes glittering down at her.

Mrs. Jackson's bland smile grew slightly wider, and with a shaky hand she reached up and smoothed the white flyaway strands of hair back into her bun. Her eyes darted to the grandfather clock before returning to affix onto an area somewhere around his right earlobe. "What can I do for you today, Damien, dear?"

Damon clasped his hands demurely in front of him and fixed the innkeeper with a solemn look. "I'm looking for a friend of mine," he began, eyes searching her face for anything that would betray her. "She's young, about yea high—," he held his hand out to his shoulder, "—green eyes, dark, pretty. Has a bit of a temper on her. You would have noticed her if she walked in." _She has that effect on people_.

Mrs. Jackson frowned and retreated to the front desk, where she began flipping through the guest log. "What was her name, dear?"

Damon sighed. "Bennett. Bonnie Bennett."

"I'm sorry dear, doesn't ring a bell. She's not listed, you see." The innkeeper showed him the guestbook, eyes turned downward.

Damon glanced down his nose at the list of names, which was absent any Bonnies or Bennetts. He ran his fingers along the binding of the past few pages, checking to see if any of them had been ripped out recently. The seams were smooth and unaltered.

Damon's shoulders slumped. Pausing as a thought struck him, he allowed his eyes to flick back up to Mrs. Jackson, who was wringing her hands in her rooster apron and staring at the guest book in his hands. His gut told him that she was hiding something from him. His gut also told him that the only way to get it out of her was to compel her. And yet his conscience, still fragile in its infancy, tugged at his better judgment, which balked at the idea of using his powers on so old and frail a mind as Mrs. Jackson's.

Damon let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. No. This was a dead end. Time to go home and forget about everything that had happened in the past two days. And still… that niggling feeling in his gut grew to an itch. Something bothered him. Not once during their entire exchange did Mrs. Jackson look at his face, or further, meet his eyes. Why?

Turning so that he could face her more fully, Damon set his mouth into a hard line. "Why won't you look at me, Mrs. Jackson?" Damon inquired in a hard voice.

Mrs. Jackson smoothed her hands over her apron and glanced instead at the grandfather clock behind the both of them. Her lips pursed. "Oh, dear. I believe left an apple turnover in the oven. If you'll excuse me."

"Right," Damon glowered, and Mrs. Jackson's smile returned, clearly waiting for him to leave. Still, her eyes refused to meet his, instead fixed upon the lapel of his jacket as he stepped backwards towards the door.

Damon paused by the welcome mat.

His eyes darkened and the veins crept across his browbones like tributaries. "Just… one more thing, Mrs. Jackson."

Damon suddenly turned on his heel, speeding towards the frail innkeeper with a velocity that should have startled any human being not familiar with vampires.

Instead, Mrs. Jackson held her ground and blinked sweetly up at him, as if she had not just witnessed a display of superhuman ability. Her eyes were flat and soulless, shallow depths only present for show. He would recognize that gaze in anyone, having induced it in others more times than he could count. Mrs. Jackson was a mere puppet, awaiting the tugs and pulls of her master.

Damon's lip drew back in a soundless snarl, and he could barely speak around the deadness that settled low in his throat, slowing his pulse to a crawl with the realization he had just made. "Thank you, Mrs. Jackson. That's all I needed to know."

Without waiting for a reply, he stalked out of the bed and breakfast. The bell chimed cheerily behind him as the door swung closed.

Once outside, Damon broke into a run. He fished out his phone with one hand as he skidded to a halt in front of his Audi, reaching in through the broken window to unlock the door. Damon slid into the driver's seat, not even bothering to sweep the broken glass out of the way. He jabbed at the start button with his forefinger, fumbling for a moment in his haste, until finally the R8 roared to life. With a squeal of tires on asphalt, Damon peeled out of the parking space and sped towards Main Street like a bat out of hell. With his other hand, he dialed Elena.

The phone rang a few times before he got her voicemail. "Dammit!" Damon cursed, slamming the steering column with a fist in frustration.

"Elena, if you get this, _stay at home_. There's another vampire in town. I don't know who yet. They're dangerous, and they might be with Bonnie. Yes, _Bonnie_ , Elena. She came for the funeral. They might have taken her, I—I don't know," Damon was speaking incoherently, even to his own ears, but he couldn't stop the stream of words coming out of him.

"Her car was parked outside of the B&B on the outskirts, but she's not—I mean, she's gone. They have Mrs. Jackson compelled. She _knew_ about vampires. At least—well." Damon let out a shaky laugh, trying and failing to think straight. The speedometer pushed eighty-five, ninety.

He cleared his throat and lowered his voice, urgent now. "There are vampires back in Mystic Falls, Elena. Vamps that aren't us. I don't know who they are, so I am begging you— _begging you_ , Elena; listen to me!— _stay at home_. I'll see you there soon.

"Love you," he added hastily, then he tossed his phone into the passenger's seat and floored the accelerator.

* * *

She didn't even get a chance to scream.

The motel room was so dark that it rendered having her eyes open useless, but Bonnie didn't need to see to feel the weight of the person bearing down on her chest, slowly forcing the air from her lungs. The man's hand, foul and clammy, like a submerged and rotting dead thing, wrapped so tightly over her mouth and nostrils that she could no longer breathe, let alone suck in enough air to let out a scream. She flailed in the dark, elbow connecting with the solid weight of her attacker. She felt bone crunch beneath the force of her blow, strategically aimed by what she hoped was the collarbone, but she only succeeded in making him angry. Their knee violently cracked into her ribs, winding her completely.

Her powers were scattered, and in her panic what little of it had recuperated from the events of the last two days was now like running water through her fingers, loosely confederated and so difficult to grasp that the effort made her see stars. Or, perhaps, that was the blow to the back of her skull, which sent her sprawling over the side of her bed before she crashed in a heap of limbs, cheek grafted to the scratchy motel carpet.

"Ste—!" Gasping, shuddering, Bonnie tried to cry out Stefan's name, but she couldn't get enough oxygen into her lungs. She knew from the stinging numbness and her swimming vision that she had sustained a concussion. She let out a soundless wheeze and began dragging herself towards the door, fumbling in the dark for something, anything that would give her purchase.

Her forearm struck the edge of the nightstand by the bed and she kicked out, hard. The crack of wood as one of the legs split was the sweetest music to her ears, and as the nightstand wobbled and fell with a crash, she prayed someone would hear it. Fumbling forward in the dark, Bonnie grabbed one of the splintered pieces of wood and somersaulted away from her bed, coming to rest in a crouched position that gave her a clearer line of sight.

Sometime in the night, it had begun to rain. Like a flash bomb, lightning streaked across the sky and lit up the motel room for a split second, giving Bonnie one clear, terrifying image of the scene before her. Standing upright and looming over her was something foul, right out of the darkest of nightmares.

There wasn't any one thing that she could put her finger on, exactly, because everything about it was too awful for her to take in at once. Maybe it was the creature's skin—milky, old, of a deathly pallor and giving off the stomach-churning odor of rotten meat. It could have been the creature's limbs, slender and long and entirely too thin to be human. It used darkness like a cloak, and the shadows seemed to lean towards it with such gravity that its surroundings seemed… distorted, somehow. It had no mouth to speak of, only smooth, white skin that expanded and deflated with its every breath. And its eyes—oh, God. Bonnie couldn't look away. Where a normal human would have eye sockets, the creature's skin stretched tightly over the holes like a drum skin, leaving two faint divots that nonetheless seemed to stare back at her with an ageless hunger.

Bonnie's mouth went dry and whatever scream she had dredged up by sheer willpower faltered and expired on her lips. What stood before her instilled her with such fear that it was all she could do to keep her heart from curling up and dying in her chest right then and there. Frantically, she began dragging herself towards the wall one painstaking inch at a time, stake long forgotten on the ground, right ankle throbbing and ribs heaving like bellows as she struggled to breathe. Whatever this thing was, she knew that she didn't have the means to kill it. This was an ancient magic. She could sense it in the way her hackles raised at the sight of it, the way its powers washed over her like a thick, putrid skin of oil over water.

The creature advanced towards her now. The rotting flesh of one cheek sagged downwards like sopping newspaper, and it flapped back and forth like a flag as the creature let out one rattling, dry sigh. Bending its long, spidery legs, it reached down towards her with one pale, long-fingered hand. The stench of the rotting flesh nearing her face made Bonnie gag, and she pressed herself up against the wall and closed her eyes.

Suddenly, the door of the motel room was ripped off its hinges and thrown outside into the raging storm. Lightning flashed and thunder pealed, and Bonnie's eyes were met with the sight of someone she never thought she'd be grateful to see: in the doorway, the silhouette of Stefan Salvatore stood, feet set wide apart, shoulders heaving slightly with the force of his anger. His face was contorted into a mask of pure, primal rage, his lips drawn back past his sharp fangs in a snarl, his eyes dark and veined. He was soaked; rain sluiced down his leather jacket in rivulets, puddling at his feet, and his hair was sodden. In his hands, he held a lighter and an aerosol can.

Lightning flashed, illuminating his eyes, narrowed and focused. "Hey, fuckface!" Stefan snarled, and the thunder echoed him.

The creature, hands mere inches from Bonnie's face, hesitated.

That hesitation was all that Stefan needed. Moving with lightning speed, he rushed the monster, sending it flying against the far end of the room. It landed in a heap, head bent at an awkward angle. Bonnie couldn't tear her eyes away and she watched in horror as the creature soundlessly, bonelessly, drew itself up. It seemed taller than before, and the shadows over which it had command seemed like tentacles, spreading silently and thickly like a blanket of dark fog rolling towards them.

It raised one slim, knarled finger and pointed at Stefan.

Then it rushed towards him.

Stefan smirked. Raising the aerosol can, he flicked the lighter open and Bonnie's vision exploded in a ball of light and heat.

The creature shrieked, raising its arms up to its bald face to protect itself while it shrank inwards, folding like a box until finally, the flames engulfed the monster's body completely. The fire shrank and then vanished.

Bonnie let out a shaky breath and gazed at the steaming, ash-filled crater in the center of the motel room.

Stefan's voice finally broke the silence. "You hurt?"

Bonnie ignored the question. Drawing herself to her knees, she peered over at the spot where the creature had gone up in flames. "Did you kill it?" She whispered, staring unblinking at the crater of ash in the middle of the room.

Stefan shook his head. "No. Its weakness is light. The power was out, so I made do with fire." He scrubbed a hand over his face, still wet with rain, and looked down at her with a heavy expression. "It'll be back."

"God," Bonnie let out a hysterical peal of laughter. "Never a dull _fucking_ day in my life. A couple days with you and already I've almost been killed twice. God!" She laughed loudly.

"Are you hurt?" Stefan repeated, dropping the lighter and spray can to the ground with a clatter and crouching down to inspect her more closely. He gingerly brushed his knuckles against the bruise on her cheek, face impassive. He paused, sniffing for a moment, and then his nostrils flared at the smell of the blood oozing out of the wound at the back of her head. He pursed his lips and turned his face away.

Bonnie watched him numbly as he shrugged out of his jacket and laid it across her shoulders. Methodically rolling up a sleeve, his fangs dropped and he bit deeply into his wrist, twin crimson lines running down his chin. He held the lifeblood to her lips. "Drink," he ordered. "Now."

Something in his tone sparked a fire in her. Anger, one of her instinctive responses to the intense fear she had felt, churned acidic inside her now, bubbling forth as she smacked his wrist away and gave him a hard shove away from her.

"Where were you?" Bonnie yelled. Her voice was so shrill that Stefan leaned away from her despite himself. " **Where** _ **were you**_?! You go on and on about protecting me because I'm some asset for you and your twisted friends, but then you just leave me here to _die_?" Her vision blurred as angry tears filled her eyes.

Stefan watched her outburst with such a stony expression on his face that he could have been watching a weather report, which succeeded in catapulting Bonnie from angry to livid. She opened her mouth to yell some more, but Stefan cut her off.

"I was taking care of the demon," Stefan explained. The thunder outside nearly drowned out his words. " _That's_ where I was. The guy that was tailing us… it was a demon. He was skulking around after you went to sleep, so I went after him. I thought, maybe I could get some answers..." Stefan sighed, and his face looked so drawn and weary that Bonnie got the feeling that perhaps the answers he sought had nothing to do with her at all.

Stefan shook his head angrily. "I should have known that it was a decoy. I had a bad feeling the moment I walked out the door."

He hesitated for a moment, then met her eyes. "I'm sorry," he admitted grudgingly, looking more frustrated than apologetic. "I never should have left you alone."

Their gazes locked and Bonnie sucked in a breath, startled to find that she somehow believed his apology. Regardless, she did not—could not—forgive him. Not after everything he had done to her. Her eyes shuttered and her fury simmered on low, ever-present and unbridled in her jade eyes as she glared at him.

Abruptly, Stefan rose to his feet and disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, re-emerging with one of the motel's threadbare white towels.

"Here," he said, tossing the towel at her unceremoniously. "Clean yourself up. We're leaving in ten minutes, before the creature come to its sense and returns to the plane it was banished from. I suggest you change out of those clothes," his gaze flicked up and down her tee shirt, lined with specks of matted blood, "and give them to me. I'm going to patrol the perimeter. When you get back, I expect you to be packed."

Having said all he needed to say, Stefan gazed down at her for a second longer, gaze lingering on her bloody, bruised cheek before speeding out of the room in a blur, leaving Bonnie to sit on the floor with a concussion, a twisted ankle, bruised ribs, and covered in her own blood.

It was only until he was gone that she allowed the tears to come.

* * *

Damon slowed his car to a relative crawl as he neared the town square. As always, life seemed to move a good degree slower in the heart of Mystic Falls. It didn't help that today was a Saturday, which naturally meant that Main Street was bloated with people milling about, doing their weekly shopping errands. Damon groaned and slammed on the brakes, barely avoiding running over a pedestrian juggling four clothing bags and an affronted expression as she scowled at the tinted windshield where she assumed Damon might be. Damon flipped her off and laid on the horn, causing the other pedestrians on the walkway to scatter in confusion.

Damon tried ringing Elena again, to no avail. He was stopped at a red light, fuming, when he caught sight of the back of a familiar brunette head. It was Elena, walking in tandem with Matt as they window-shopped. Elena must have said something funny, because Damon could see Matt's eyes crinkle with mirth as he let out a bark of laughter. The two of them paused in front of a consignment shop, Elena sifting through an outdoor rack of sundresses and vintage jackets while Matt leaned against the doorframe and watched, chatting with her companionably.

Slamming on the brakes for the second time that day, Damon threw on a hasty turn signal and moved to park in the rear parking lot of the Mystic Grill. He needed to warn Elena as soon as possible, and since she wasn't answering her phone, he was going to make her listen one way or the other.

He was about to lock his car door (needlessly, given that the window was already smashed wide open) when he heard a buzzing noise coming from the passenger seat of his car. Damon thought about simply ignoring the call, but instead his common sense got the better of him and he reached through the window, patting around until his fingers brushed up against the vibrating phone.

Snatching it up, Damon squinted down at the caller I.D.

"Elena," he breathed, accepting the call immediately. "Hey," he said, jogging out of the parking lot towards the consignment shop where he had seen her earlier. "I'm headed your way now. Don't move, and tell Matt that he needs to get lost for a few minutes while we talk."

Elena's voice was bemused. "Matt? What are you talking about?"

"Ditch the _blonde_ , Elena," Damon repeated through his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose in agitation as he rounded the corner.

He came upon the consignment shop, and slowly his footsteps faltered to a halt. Elena stood before Matt, holding up a particularly atrocious-looking sundress to the football player's frame. Matt playfully shoved it away and Elena's laughter floated towards him, light and tinkling like a wind chime. Matt then turned and walked inside of the clothing store, beckoning Elena with a shrug of his shoulder and a slow smile. She lingered by the outdoor display rack, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Damon's breathing became shallow.

"Damon?" Elena's voice prompted in his ear. "Are you alright?"

The Elena by the consignment shop turned slowly towards him, graceful and precise as a ballerina. Her hair, straight and long, caught the sunlight, almost as bright as the flash of her teeth as she fixed Damon with a direct stare that pierced through to his core made his blood run absolutely cold.

The phone slipped from his grip and shattered across the sidewalk.

The second Elena's cheeks dimpled gently and she slowly, deliberately winked.

Suddenly, the blaring horn from a car on the street made Damon start. Looking around him, he dazedly realized that he had stopped stock-still in the middle of a crosswalk. He moved out of the way hastily.

When he looked back up, she was gone.


	6. Deleted Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deleted scene to pass the time in between chapters. Enjoy this little snippet between Stefan and Bonnie! It takes place in the middle of Chapter 5, before they get to the motel and after they turn off the highway.

[ ](http://sgolibrary.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/ch5ii.png)

She hadn't realized how starving she was until they had pulled up to the greasy spoon diner and Stefan had forced her to get out of the car. The smells from the parking lot alone were enough to make her salivate, and her stomach let out another mortifyingly loud whine. Bonnie managed to dodge Stefan's knowing smirk as she trotted towards the entrance, gravel crunching under her sneakers as she briskly shouldered past him in her eagerness to put him and his smugness at her back.

Stefan watched Bonnie's hair curls sway back and forth as she made her way inside the clear glass doors of the diner. He checked to make sure she was completely inside, and visible, before locking the car doors and slowly following in her stead. He kept his gaze down, contemplatively studying the pebbles by his boots. A black Chrysler sedan entered the edge of his peripheral vision and he slowed to a leisurely stroll, ears straining and blood pumping with adrenaline as he listened to the car and watched out of the corner of his eye. The car didn't slow down, but blew right past the diner and sped down the road. Stefan cocked his head to the side as if he were checking his watch; his eyes tracked the car as it traveled down the road and disappeared out of sight.

Good. They knew where they were now.

Stefan cast his slate eyes upwards, taking in the darkening sky and the setting sun. His mouth settled into a firm, grim line and he cracked his neck before moving to join Bonnie inside the diner.

The air conditioning hit him like a wall of frigid air as soon as he stepped into the place. Bonnie was standing by the bar, waiting to be seated, leg jiggling in place as she rather violently worried at her lip. His skin puckered in gooseflesh as a wave of warmth washed over him, so suddenly and quickly that he could have imagined it. But no—there it was again. Each step he took towards her and the room seemed to warm, the air dragging thick, heavy fingers across his flushing skin until he could no longer stand it.

Stefan insisted on a window booth, and as the waitress seated them, he shrugged out of his sweltering leather jacket and tossed it onto the sticky burgundy pleather seats before sliding in after it. The young waitress, blond-haired and wide-eyed, stared at Stefan in that open-mouthed, purely female fascination that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. Bonnie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Bitterly, she remembered that she had caught herself staring at him like that once or twice before.

 _Before_ , she reminded herself forcefully, and she reached for and opened the menu with a decisive snap of her wrist.

* * *

Bonnie couldn't help the small sigh of satisfaction as she bit into her cheeseburger.

Stefan swirled the straw absently in his diet coke ("I like the flavor," Stefan scowled when Bonnie raised a sardonic eyebrow) and chased his steak (bloody) around the plate with his fork, not looking too enthused.

"Now what?" Bonnie asked around her mouthful of food. Table manners were overrated around someone like Stefan.

Stefan started, as if just realizing that Bonnie was sitting before him. He slowly turned his eyes upwards from his meal, gaze trailing lazily up her neck before resting on her face. He blinked slowly, as if deciding something, then stretched out a hand and reached towards her. Preservation instinct kicked in and Bonnie balked, leaning back until her back hit the sticky vinyl padding of the booth. She closed her eyes and waited for the blow she knew was coming.

When, instead, Stefan's cool fingers gently grazed her chin, Bonnie couldn't help the barely audible whimper of relief that pushed its way past her lips. She opened her eyes, one after the other, and was met with the sight of him watching her, his eyes trained fastly upon hers, studying her with such focused intensity that she felt like a bright flickering of thought about to wink out of existence. Every nerve ending screamed at his touch, a rippling heat that bloomed across her face and spread to flush across her neck and chest with pearling scorch marks.

Bonnie couldn't decide what she felt, her mind a shuttering zoetrope of emotions. It was as if she were spinning on a carousel, pinned there by the force of the inertia, waiting for it to be over and at the same time fearing it just as much. The air was broiling her alive.

Carefully, Stefan ran his thumb over the side of her chin and leaned back, reaching for his napkin. As soon as he let go of her face, the heat vanished, and Bonnie gasped in relief.

"You're a messy eater," Stefan said with distaste, rubbing the ketchup he had swiped from her skin into it and flicking the soiled cloth aside.

His fingers shook.

Stefan stood suddenly and, without a word, exited the booth, making a beeline for the bathroom, which was separated from the rest of the diner by a swinging door that led to the hallway. Bonnie watched, mouth dry, as she saw him hold the door open for the young waitress who had hit on him before. Stefan slowly turned, surveying the near-empty diner and somehow, inevitably, his silvery eyes caught her own. Bonnie forgot to breathe as Stefan slowly smiled, gaze darkened and fangs flashing white and gleaming before he pushed against the door and disappeared after the waitress.

Bonnie slowly turned her head away, eyes blinking rapidly. The pulse in her throat thudded as she fought to control her reaction: anger, fear, shock, bone-weary fatigue… And yet, something inside her hardened.

_Better her than me._

Even as the words disgusted her as she thought them, she realized with a sinking feeling that it didn't make them any less true.

Bonnie picked up the hamburger on her plate and took another bite.

It tasted like ash.


	7. Split the Night, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonnie finds herself presented to someone she does not expect. Part 1 of 2.

Bonnie was woken by the tinny boom of two hands slamming palms-down on the hood of the rental car. The effect was predictably jarring, and in her startled state, her hand flailed out, elbow solidly striking the passenger-side window. The pain was instantaneous and agonizing. Eyes watering, she bit down hard on her cheek to keep from making a sound, which she knew was what the bastard wanted. Raising her eyes, she caught Stefan staring at her through the windshield, fingers splayed over the hood, one eyebrow raised. His mouth seemed permanently fixed in that jack-o-lantern semblance of a smirk, so achingly familiar that for a moment, Bonnie was tempted to rub her eyes in case she was hallucinating Damon in his place.

He drummed his knuckles on the car, daylight ring winking at her with the movement. Bonnie gritted her teeth, rubbing her aching elbow. The vampire jerked his thumb behind him.

"Out."

The blunt command in his tone made her grit her teeth, but her temper only flared up a little, which she considered progress. Stifling a yawn, Bonnie obeyed. But not because he told her what to do, she insisted to herself as she kicked the car door open and slammed it shut behind her. The sound went off like a gunshot in the sudden, blanketing silence that she found them both in. Wonderingly, she raised her face and turned behind them, for the first time truly taking in where they were.

It was past midday, if the quickly ducking sun dragging watercolors across the cloudless sky was any indication. Burnished leaves of gold and fire tipped the trees in dappled Technicolor halos, though green still bravely clung to the ribs of the boughs below. Far above them wheeled a kettle of hawks, sentinels circling in the sky like freewheeling specks above, while wind whistled tunelessly through the forest below. It smelled earthy here, pine-like and fresh, and in the distance the soothing, faint sound of running water teased Bonnie's ears. It was so utterly removed from everything she had experienced in the past few months that she couldn't help but feel a certain flicker of poignant emotion at its beauty. The forest, like so many things in life, would endure. Bonnie swallowed, ignoring the heavy weight in her chest at this thought.

Then she turned, and her eyebrows skyrocketed as she took in the sight before her. A building—a mansion, and that was being modest—rose defiantly out of the forest before her like it had grown up alongside it, sprouted from seed to shoot. The entire façade, weathered and worn by age, was covered with vines, the moss-covered foundation cracked and more a part of the forest floor than some of the shrubs growing around it. It was impressive, and Bonnie could see for a moment the ghost of what it had been, an imposing example of opulence and architectural prowess, though majestic all the same.

But now… now, it was a ruin. Rotted beams—or what was left of them—caved inwards on crumbling brickwork, exposing the structural skeleton of a proverbial beast long dead. Here and there the heavy wood framing had bowed and buckled under the combined weight of the collapsed outer stonework, and the splintered lumber lay upright at odd angles, blackened in places and covered with forest detritus in others. The windows were charred, glassless, and gaping, like dozens of entry wounds. The wind sighed through the fissures and rents and, all around them, leaves swept outwards and away from the abandoned place, as if the house were exhaling.

All of a sudden, the sight of the ruins filled her with such a fleeting terror that she let out a choked sound, hackles rising at the sight of it. And, almost as quickly as the feeling came, it left, leaving her palms sweaty and her mouth intolerably dry. She swiveled her head to shoot a bewildered look at Stefan, who stood a pace behind her, arms crossed as he propped himself against the hood of the rental car.

"You felt that, right?" Bonnie blurted out before she could stop herself. She really needed to reign in her reactions around him.

Instead of the snarky reprimand that Bonnie expected, Stefan pushed himself off the car and stepped closer to her, boots crunching the thick bed of leaves beneath his feet. His forehead furrowed as he gazed up at the silent, watching remains of the house.

Eventually he spoke. "That… feeling," he replied slowly, "it never quite goes away."

He ran a hand down one arm absently, eyes unmoving as he stared at the mansion. Bonnie looked down and saw goosebumps trailing up his pale forearms. For some reason, that sent a chill through her almost as surely as the strange, volatile panic she'd felt just moments before.

Stefan shook himself and looked down at Bonnie as if seeing her for the first time. He hesitated, eyes sliding back to the house, before holding out a hand towards her. Bonnie looked at him like he was insane. Stefan sighed, and his face rearranged itself into the hardened mask that served as his disciplinary tool when it came to her.

"It wasn't a suggestion," he said in a hard voice. "Take my hand. You need to come with me."

"I can follow just fine without having to touch any part of you, thanks," Bonnie snapped. "I've seen my fair share of abandoned buildings, you know. I'm not going to trip over a beam and bust my face open, as much as you're probably wishing it." She moved to brush past him.

Stefan's hand was a blur as it shot out and grasped her wrist tightly, bending her hand back with ease. Still holding her in a bone-grinding grip, he circled behind her until her arm was pinned at her back and his nose was brushing the nape of her neck.

His lips grazed her ear and she shivered. "You walk with me, or you lose the ability to walk, period. Understood?" His tone was low and velvety, completely out of place with the threats behind it. "Don't ever forget who is in charge here. And, Bonnie, I'll give you a hint…" His breath danced hotly down her back. "It's not you. You are _not_ in charge. Accept that now." Bonnie's skin crawled, her pulse skittering as adrenaline shot throughout her, numbing somewhat Stefan's painful grip.

He gave her a rough shove, somehow managing to drag her forward even though she was the one walking in front of him. They made their way towards the abandoned house, stopping when Bonnie reached the crumbling front stairs that lead to nowhere.

"What are you doing?" Bonnie panted, struggling against Stefan. "What the hell is going on?"

"Climb the stairs, Bonnie," Stefan advised calmly. He pushed her forward, but more gently this time.

Bonnie raised a foot reluctantly and began the slow ascent up the molded concrete stairs, sneakers dancing across the cracks and gaps carefully. When she alighted on the final stair, she craned her neck so that she could glare at Stefan behind her. Below them, one more step would deposit them directly into the heart of the ruins, where jagged pieces of wood and concrete awaited like the hungry maw of some dormant monster.

Stefan's chest brushed against her back and Bonnie stiffened. "Keep going," he commanded, fingers squeezing tightly around her wrist.

Bonnie's voice raised an octave. "Wha—that's a six-foot drop! I know you're nuts, Stefan, but _seriously_ , I don't think—"

Stefan's tone matched the acidity of his smile. "Think of it as a leap of faith, Bonnie. I'll be right behind you."

The mocking twist to his tone should have warned her of what he was about to do, but shock still spiked heady in her bloodstream when he stepped against her and gave her a shove forward, hand still gripping her tightly.

As her equilibrium upended, Bonnie opened her mouth to scream, but suddenly found that she couldn't. With a soundless popping sensation, the world flickered, sucked in a deep breath, and then winked out of existence.

* * *

Bonnie opened one eye and then the other. She clapped her free hand over her mouth to stifle the shocked sound that she made, even as nausea bubbled deep in her gut like pitch.

"Shake it off," Stefan's voice came to her as if on the other side of a tunnel. "It's always most difficult the first time." He let go of her arm and she stumbled away from him.

Bonnie blinked her swimming vision away and rubbed her eyes, disbelieving. Gone were the crumbling ruins of the foundation they had stepped into. In its place was the luxuriant sprawl of a colossal foyer, trimmed with deep mahogany and covered floor to ceiling in rich décor. To her left, a large, arched couloir led deeper into the house, walls lined with portraits and gilt paneling. Directly in front of her rose a grand spiral staircase of solid limestone, polished to a glossy sheen. Her eyes trailed up the banister, which curved gracefully up to the second story landing and led her gaze directly overhead, where a glittering crystal chandelier, golden and filled with actual, wax-dripping candles, hung heavy and expectant like a fiery pendant in the center of the foyer.

Bonnie stepped forward and her footsteps echoed in the cavernous room. She was speechless at the sight of the place, especially when considering what she was sure she had seen in its stead only moments before. Bonnie's mouth opened and closed for a moment before she shut it, blinking rapidly.

"A glamour," she murmured to herself at last, shaking her head and wondering why she hadn't sensed it before.

"That's quite right."

Bonnie started, head whipping to the staircase which only moments ago was empty. Now, draped over the stair bannister was a young man that she vaguely recognized. When he saw her startled expression, he waggled his fingers at her and winked.

His eyes traveled away from her to rest on the silent presence behind her. The grin on his face slid off with frightening speed. "Salvatore," the man acknowledged with a barely-perceptible nod. "Good to see you in one piece, _still_." His regretful tone indicated that he meant the exact opposite, and Bonnie couldn't help but silently agree.

"Kol." Stefan returned the nod with enough reluctant stiffness that Bonnie almost wondered where the puppeteer was, pulling his strings. Their gazes held and Stefan's face visibly darkened with each passing moment. The tension between them was palpable enough that Bonnie took a step back without thinking. Self-preservation was an especially under-appreciated virtue of late, and her gut told her to stay out of this one.

Kol's mouth twisted unpleasantly for a moment, but in a flash, it was as if the charming smile had never left his face. He swept an arm grandly outwards, gesturing to her as if surveying his domain from his position atop the stairs.

"Welcome, Miss Bennett," he practically purred her name, "I am _ever_ so pleased you could make it."

The sardonic twist of his lips belied the meaning of his words, and Kol's eyes danced over her almost greedily as he made his way down the staircase. His hand whispered across the polished wood railing as he descended. The grace and poise with which he glided downwards was unnerving.

This was the first time officially meeting the Original face-to-face, and Bonnie could honestly say that she was not impressed. He was devastatingly handsome, of course—they all were, weren't they?—but it was tempered by the certainty that he knew just how attractive he was and used it to his advantage whenever the opportunity arose. His eyes were dark, simmering with an exquisite malice that seemed almost gleeful, like his manner; Bonnie got the impression that Kol reveled in his situation much more than a vampire ever should. The smooth contours of his face and coy smile hovering around his lips betrayed the youthful body trapped forever in time. He would have been of age with her, Bonnie realized, when he had been turned. Somehow her thoughts turned to Stefan, a fraction of a thought in which she reminded herself that though he was hundreds of years old, physically, he was now younger than she in appearance.

She frowned slightly, forcing that thought and its accompanying emotions deep inside, to be examined later.

Bonnie lifted her chin and stared down her nose at the Original, who alighted at the bottom of the staircase and fixed her with an impeccable smile that did not reach his dead eyes. Behind her, Stefan's presence was a constant reminder that wherever she turned, she was trapped by vampires. Bonnie blinked slowly at Kol and stiffened her spine, allowing a smile as dazzling as Kol's and just as empty to stretch across her face, taut and uncomfortable.

"So," she addressed Kol, brow raised. "Quite an impressive glamour you've thrown up around this place. I'm guessing you found some witch to blackmail or threaten." Bonnie's temper was flaring up again, and this time she did nothing to hold it in check. "And I suppose you snapped her neck when you were done with her, too. That's your way, isn't it?" She tossed a challenging look at Stefan, whose eyes narrowed, though he maintained his vigilant silence.

Kol smiled indulgently at her, rocking back on his heels. He wore a dark, ribbed v-neck sweater that clung to his lean frame, cutting an imposing figure before her.

"Oh, don't be dramatic, Miss Bennett," he admonished in that smirking, lyrical tone of his, though his face had grown serious. "This place was around long before I ever stepped foot on this land, and it shall be long after I leave. I and my family are mere… stewards of its ways, if you will." He picked at a nonexistent fray on the cuff of his sweater. "Clever little spell, though, wouldn't you say?" He gestured at the opulent foyer, the rich carpeting and the dusty gilded tapestries that hung from the walls like the dressings of a castle.

Bonnie glowered.

Kol sighed and looked ruefully at her. "This place can only be revealed by those who know where it is. Hence…"

He waggled a finger between Bonnie and Stefan, and Bonnie understood. Stefan needed to be with her in order for the glamour to disappear… no wonder he was so adamant about touching her. Spells were very precise. She shuddered to think what might have happened to her had she attempted to move past the glamour on her own. Bonnie's mouth worked, but she couldn't quite decide on what to say, so she clamped it shut and resisted looking askance at Stefan.

Grinning suddenly, Kol clapped his hands together and stepped closer to Bonnie, looking positively animated. The grin on his face was unsettling—a predatory wolf in sheep's clothing. "Well, Bonnie," he smiled, "I am so delighted that you've decided to make it. I know that Klaus is very much looking forward to seeing you again."

Bonnie blinked, taken aback. "Klaus is not… here?" She haltingly asked, turning to look at Stefan. She noted that Stefan's expression registered some degree of surprise as well, before his face slipped back into that indeterminate mask like a default setting. Clearly, this was news to Stefan's ears as well.

Kol shook his head. "No, regretfully," he replied lightly. "He has some… business to take care of in the east. Some loose ends to tie up, and all that." He smiled grimly. "I am to be your host in the meantime, to make sure that you are strong and ready for the task we have set for you. Besides," he added, "you're no use to us drugged. You'll need some time for the asphodel to get out of your system."

Bonnie's heart stopped cold. "Drugs? What asphodel, what are—that— _ **what**_?" she choked, unable to speak properly.

Kol looked down his nose at her, mouth pursed in distaste. "We couldn't risk you using your powers on Stefan, the dear old boy, could we?" He tutted, shaking his head. Stefan glowered at him silently. "No. Better to come docile and quiet, your powers temporarily held in check. That way _both_ of you get here in one piece." The warning look that he shot Stefan seemed to indicate to Bonnie that perhaps it was just as much a precautionary measure against Stefan's known violent retaliations.

"You _**drugged**_ me?" Bonnie shouted, rounding on Stefan.

Instinct spun her on her heel, aiming a roundhouse that should have rightly parted his head from his shoulders. Stefan was anticipating it, and he calmly sidestepped her in a blur of motion. Bonnie shifted her leg mid-swing, gracefully twirling like an ice skater and instead using her centripetal force to drive her elbow into his face. Blood sprayed outwards from Stefan's broken nose like a geyser and he let out an annoyed grunt, ducking away from her and clutching his face with both hands as blood flowed freely between his fingers.

Bonnie took a step after him, raising her fist to swing again and… suddenly Kol was standing before her. Her fist slapped the flesh of his open palm as he captured it with his hand, effectively stopping her from moving. His long fingers interlaced with her own calmly, and Bonnie let out a pained gasp as she felt the bone grinding under his constricting grip. He stepped closely enough for her to smell his aftershave and feel the heat of his torso coming off of him through that sweater. Bonnie gritted her teeth and stared levelly up at the Original, seemingly calm save for the angry staccato of her pulse.

"Bonnie," Kol said in an admonishing tone, bringing his other hand up to pat her knuckles companionably, "That is quite enough. I think that Stefan understands the depth of his deception. Isn't that right, Salvatore?" Kol smoothly flicked a smirk Stefan's way, as if the idea of drugging Bonnie and suppressing her powers was entirely his idea, not Kol's.

Stefan threw the Original a look that was searing in its fury, so much so that Bonnie felt some of it secondhand, making her skin prickle with discomfort. Begrudgingly, Stefan lowered his bloody hand from his face. His nose had already stopped bleeding, and already the blood was beginning to coagulate on his lips and chin. Bonnie grimaced in distaste and looked away as Stefan's tongue darted out along his lower lip, dragging slowly and deliberately as he kept his eyes on her.

"I do understand," Stefan intoned finally, as if speaking around a vice. "And I apologize. Next time I drug you, you'll be the first to know."

Bonnie's mouth opened to retort, but before she could reply, Stefan gave a short, mocking bow and swept out of the room, trailing behind a few spare drops of blood in his wake.

Bonnie took in a breath so deep that it threatened to crack her ribs. Kol finally released his grip on her fist, but did not back away, choosing to stay unnervingly close to her. What was it with vampires and invasions of space?

"How do I know that you two won't hurt me once I give you what you want?" Bonnie asked suddenly, hoping to startle an honest answer out of the Original.

Kol gave her a look that was a study indeed, an exquisite mixture of predatory fascination and bemused consternation. "You are our _guest_ here, Miss Bennett," he stressed, as if it were obvious. He spread his hands wide before him, no doubt a gesture of goodwill. "Whilst you stay here, no harm shall come to you. You are free to come and go as you please, as long as either Stefan or I accompany you."

Bonnie shook her head incredulously. "And what's in it for me?"

Kol fixed her with a piercing stare that made her breath catch in her chest. "Answers. That I can promise you." He paused and allowed that to sink in.

His smile swiftly returned. Bonnie was starting to see just how effectively Kol could shuffle through emotions, very nearly as skillfully as Stefan, if not more so.

"Now, dinner shall be served promptly at seven," he continued. "That leaves you an hour or so to get ready. I'd be honored to escort you to where you'll be staying for the time being. I do hope you find the furnishings to your satisfaction. If not, don't hesitate to speak up, and I'll see what I can do.

"Also, you'll find a number of clothes, shoes, jewelry," he ticked them off on his fingers, "makeup, and other such, ah, female adornments." Kol raised a brow, once again raking her frame with his eyes, this time with an assessing, rather than predacious, gleam. "I do hope they got you the right sizes. You are quite the… delicate creature, aren't you?" he said more to himself than anyone else.

Bonnie bit her cheek and said nothing.

Kol tilted his head to the side and gave her a somewhat sardonic look. "If you'll follow me?" He turned and began to lead her up the winding staircase.


	8. Split the Night, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonnie and Kol have dinner together and discuss the past, the present, and the future.

She hadn't had a bath—like, an actual, run steaming water and pour in bubbles and just sink down inside the tub and submerge yourself, _bath_ —in years. Bonnie was always kind of a shower girl, but after a long while in that whirlpool-jetted masterpiece in the bathroom of her room, Bonnie decided that she might actually have to reevaluate her opinion on the subject.

Bonnie ran a hand through her wet locks, combing through the knots as she strode towards the closet door, which she pulled open with her free hand. She couldn't help the gasp that escaped her when she saw what was beyond the doors. It wasn't a closet—it couldn't be. It was way too large. Larger than her bedroom back home, and twice as nicely decorated. Bonnie stepped into the space, marveling at the cedarwood shelves and rows upon _rows_ of clothing of every sort. She ran her hands wonderingly over the coats nearest to her—an entire rack devoted to _coats_!—gaping at the island shelf in the middle of the room, next to which was a lush-looking ottoman and a tailor's half-mannequin casually covered in layers of glittering necklaces, all of which looked to contain some sort of precious jewel.

Her inner material girl, still obsessed with normal things like shopping and looking pretty, squealed at this entire shopping mall at her disposal. Bonnie was sorely tempted to spend the next week trying on each and every outfit like a kid in a candy store, but the fact that this was all in light of being certifiably kidnapped and held against her will… well, that was a bitter pill to swallow, and it curdled any initial amazement she felt at the sight of all those clothes.

Sighing, Bonnie grimaced and chuckled wryly to herself. Time to get dressed. For dinner. With an Original vampire… and _Stefan_ Salvatore. What kind of life was she living? She was sorely tempted to grab her forearm and pinch, just to see if this reality was just as tangible as it felt.

Bonnie stepped towards the dress rack on her left, sorting through them and clucking to herself. They were all ridiculous—the short ones were too short and looked like they were made to go for a night on the town, whilst the gowns were so over-the-top that they couldn't be worn to anything less than a presidential ball. At one point, she made the mistake of looking at one of the price tags and nearly fainted. Combined, the entire contents of this closet could probably pay off her student loans, past, present, _and_ future. _And then some_ , Bonnie decided, warily eyeing the glittering pendants draped over the mannequin.

Finally, she settled on the plainest, most dully cut dress she could find. It was black and full-skirted, long enough to cover her legs to the calf, with a square, economical neckline and wide, triangular straps. The top was cinched in rather too tightly for her tastes, but the hourglass effect that it created was not flattering enough to be considered purposeful, and besides, it covered her chest better than she could have hoped. The dress fit perfectly, of course, and she had no doubt that the entire closetful of clothing would likewise fit her like a glove.

Bonnie coupled that with a pair of nude, modest t-straps and pulled her still-damp hair back into a careless ponytail, ignoring the glittering hair combs and diamond-encrusted clips in favor of the plain elastic hair tie she had on her wrist. No makeup, she also decided. If she had to play show pony for an Original and his pet Salvatore, she sure as hell was going to show them just how much she hated it.

* * *

Bonnie smoothed her hands down the front of her dress and padded her way down the hallways of the second floor. At a mere glance, it was obvious that the mansion was far greater in size than she had originally imagined. Kol had taken her to her bedroom in the east wing earlier. While once more stressing the fact that Bonnie was their guest, he also made it expressly clear that if he caught her snooping, her living arrangements could be made a _lot_ less comfortable. Bonnie didn't ask, but she knew how creative the Originals could be when it came to punishment. She gave Kol her word through gritted teeth.

Now, heels dangling in one hand, she made her way back down the carpeted hallway, trailing her fingers over the various paintings and artifacts lined up against the walls. Another time, she would love to explore the house further. Another time, when every second spent living in a house full of vampires _wasn't_ spent in fear or waiting for her neck to be snapped.

The sound of raised voices made her come to a halt, listening. She was nearing the second set of stairs that led towards the back part of the house. Bonnie bit her lip, only taking a moment to decide that she should go investigate. Her stockinged feet barely made a sound as she tiptoed down the curved staircase and paused at the foot, clutching the filigreed mahogany railing and bending forwards, trying to listen to the conversation in the next room over.

"No!" That was Stefan's voice. Bonnie strained to hear him. "A deal is a deal, Kol. I bring you the girl, you—"

There was a slam, as if someone had brought their fist down on a wooden table. "You forget your place, Salvatore," Kol hissed sharply, voice carrying despite his attempts to control it. "It is you who are indebted to us, not the other way around. Or have you forgotten what you've done? What you're now capable of?"

The moment of pause seemed expectant, the sinister turn of Kol's words ringing warningly inside Bonnie's head. Her knuckles gripped the bannister tightly as she leaned over as far as she dared, twisting her body to catch the rest of the conversation.

Whatever Kol was referring to seemed to give Stefan pause. His voice was calmer now, but the undercurrent of latent hostility still vibrated in his words like a plucked string.

"You know very well," Stefan replied, "that my situation isn't something I can afford to forget. But a deal is a deal. The witch is yours— _I've_ delivered. Now, where are _my_ answers?"

Kol barked a sharp laugh. "You'll get them when I decide you'll get them."

" **That's not good enough**!" The snarl that ripped itself from Stefan's throat was inhuman.

She could only imagine the look on his face, a terrifying mixture of cold rage and violent frustration. She'd been on the receiving end of his anger before, and he hadn't sounded half as furious as he did now. She bit her lip, awaiting Kol's next choice of words with bated breath.

If the Original was startled by Stefan's attitude, one wouldn't notice by his tone, which was equally angry, if not less emotional.

"It may interest you to know," Kol rejoined scathingly, "that we have an audience."

The silence that followed was met by the rapid thrum of Bonnie's pulse racing as she realized, belatedly, that they had found her out. Straightening quickly, she managed to stand just as both Stefan and Kol strode into the hallway, each one sporting such contrasting looks that it was almost comical, had Bonnie not been so terrified of their reactions. Kol's charming smile was on display, lifeless but not at all strained in his efforts. Stefan, on the other hand, did nothing to mask the cold fury still emanating from his features.

Bonnie arranged her features into a semblance of a smile and dangled her t-strap heels before the two vampires. Shrugging one shoulder demurely, she raised an eyebrow and blinked innocently.

" _There_ you two are. This house is _so_ big, I was so sure I'd gotten lost! So," she said in a light tone. "Who's hungry? I'm _starving_."

Stefan gave her a hard look, and without a word of goodbye to either of them, moved past Kol, clipping him on the shoulder. As he made his way of up the stairs he brushed against Bonnie and she stiffened, ignoring the clench in her gut as his hand brushed against hers for the briefest of moments, sending a tingling numbness down to her fingertips.

Bonnie swallowed and looked back towards Kol, who was giving her an appreciative appraisal. Noticing his scrutiny, she cleared her throat.

Kol gestured behind him. "Dinner awaits, Miss Bennett," he declared smoothly. He offered her his arm. It took her a moment to realize that sometime between their first meeting and now, he had changed into an expensive, finely cut suit and bow tie. His smile slid wider across his face, revealing the dazzling set of even teeth that, though startlingly white, was stained with the blood of countless thousands he had undoubtedly massacred over the centuries.

Bonnie took his arm gingerly, struggling with her desire to run very far, very fast away from that glittering Cheshire grin of his. "Lead the way."

* * *

If Bonnie thought back on that evening, there were many details that stood out sharply in her mind. She could picture vividly, for instance, the color napkins they were using (maroon) and the type of champagne she was served (Clos du Mesnil, because Kol personally preferred it to wine). She could feel the heat at her back and hear the crackling of the flames in the fireplace behind her, remember each sound in the room echoing loudly in the cavernous expanse of space Kol designated their dining room. But, for the life of her, she could not remember what she had eaten, how many courses were served, nor any of the small talk she and Kol had conducted over candles and uncomfortable glances. It was only the events after their meal, the discussion that they had, that Bonnie remembered with such a singular clarity that she could recall every word of the conversation as if she were still living it.

Bonnie swallowed another small taste of champagne and threw Kol a pointed stare. "Enough with the pleasantries, Kol. Flattery isn't going to get you anywhere with me; neither will lulling me into a false sense of security." She thrust a finger at him, which she shook with each word. "Get this through that Original skull of yours—I. Do. Not. Trust. You."

Kol couldn't help it—he let out a surprised bark of laughter, the first genuine sound to come out of him all night. "I appreciate your honesty, Bonnie," Kol said, tone mirthful. "And truly, I intend you no harm. You are _far_ too valuable."

Bonnie glared impatiently at him, folding her arms across her chest.

Kol's smile slid a little bit. "Very well. Down to business, then," he sighed regretfully. "I promised you answers, and you shall have them. That was my word—full disclosure." He took the stem of his champagne glass and downed the rest of his drink with two swallows. He snagged the neck of the champagne bottle between them and poured more into his glass, hand steady. Then he leaned forwards, affixing his gaze on her own with a directness that was almost dogged in its determination.

"You're here," Kol began, "because we're looking for a particular magical item that has the power to change, well…" He laughed. "It changes _everything_ , Bonnie. And we need your help to find it."

Bonnie waved a hand indifferently at him. "You can skip the introduction and give me the Sparknotes version, Kol. Now."

Annoyed at being interrupted before his story even began, Kol gave her a churlish glower.

"Tell me, then, _Bonnie_ ," Kol said her name slowly, as if tasting it for the first time. "How much," he asked, "do you know about the Philosopher's Stone?"

"Wow, okay," Bonnie sat back in her seat, nonplussed. "Depends. _Harry Potter_ version or ancient history version?"

Kol gathered his hands under his chin and leaned his elbows on the table. "You tell me."

The history major in her was smug. "Let's see," Bonnie sighed, reaching forward and swirling her drink thoughtfully, "Philosopher's Stone. _Lapis philosophorum_ , legendary for its purported ability not only to turn any base metal into gold, but to also grant the bearer immortality. Am I getting warm?"

Kol's eyes crinkled and he _hmm_ ed softly, like a purring cat. "Warmer. Not quite, but do continue. I do love listening to someone other than myself speak every once in a while."

Bonnie shot him an ironic look, which he returned mildly. She cleared her throat, reciting from rote memory. "No one has ever found the correct alchemical combination of elements to create a stone of such transmutative quality, nor an elixir possessing such potent life preservation. However, that is quite probably because it's impossible." Bonnie sat forward in her seat, draping an arm across the table, fingers toying with one of the tassels of the tablecloth. "There's no way something like that can exist—it goes against nature. And, mind you, this is coming from a witch."

Kol nodded for a few moments before speaking. "Interesting. Very good, darling. You've got the basics of it, but… well." He chuckled and looked up at her through his bangs, eyes glittering. "Allow me to enlighten you on the subject matter."

Bonnie huffed. "I don't see what any of this even has to do with what—"

Kol talked over her smoothly, voice slightly rising to silence her. "The legend of the Philosopher's Stone actually predates that of the ancient Latin or Greek philosophers and alchemists of the old age. Stories were told amongst the oldest known civilizations, stories of Stones with qualities remarkably parallel to the early modern ideal of the Philosopher's Stone."

Bonnie nodded—it was nothing she hadn't heard before—but said nothing. Her curiosity was piqued, enough so that she resisted the urge to roll her eyes at what Kol said next.

"These stories," Kol continued, "told of the existence of dozens, perhaps hundreds, of such Stones of power, scattered throughout the Earth. Scholars debate the translations, of course, but most primary sources are agreed to have mentioned the origins of these Stones—from 'Beings Above,' or, more literally translated, 'Celestial Bodies.'"

"So…" Bonnie pondered for a moment, picking at the tablecloth thoughtfully. "Like, meteors, or…?"

Kol smiled and raised a finger, indicating that the punchline was still to come.

"The opinion of most contemporary scholars, to be sure. It is not unheard of for cultures to have worshipped meteoroids, thinking they had mystical properties because they fell from the skies, and therefore, perhaps even from the gods themselves. However, there are a select few historians," Kol's voice dipped intriguingly, "who take that interpretation a step further."

Bonnie frowned, unsure what he was indicating. "What do you mean? Like, they believe that these stones actually came from gods?"

Kol shook his head, sandy hair flopping across his brow, giving the light in his eyes a boyish gleam. "Not from gods. _A_ god," he emphasized. " _ **The**_ God."

Bonnie froze, frown growing deeper without realizing it. "You're not serious are you?"

Kol gave her a wistful smile, as if saying, _I wish I weren't._ Bonnie shook her head, unable to process where to begin with so bold a declaration.

Kol took her silence as indication to elaborate. "According to these theorists, the Stones were created after Lucifer's fall from heaven," he went on, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, "and the exile of the six hundred and sixty six archangels who followed him against heaven. Theoretically, there should exist one Stone for each fallen angel's Grace, which was ripped from the angels' chests and captured in divine substance before they were condemned to the circles of hell, where otherwise their Grace would surely perish."

Bonnie snorted. "Wait, you can't be serious. _Angels_? Are you joking?" She knew the Original was nuts, but this… this was a little outside even her brand of crazy. The worst part was, the way he said it made it seem like it could be true, like what he was saying was logically reasonable. And that was where Bonnie felt like she had been trapped.

Kol paused to take a sip of his champagne, swilling it in its chalice a moment before he went on and completely ignoring her question. "Turning lead to gold, unnaturally long life—mere trifles. Only a fraction of what these Stones could achieve, of the power that they housed within them. You do realize… an angel is to his Grace as a human is to… well, I suppose the nearest likeness is one's soul. And the soul, Bonnie," Kol warned with a pointed finger, "is quite possibly the most powerful magic in known existence. You should know this, given your lineage.

"Over time, these Stones were supposedly lost to the ages. Powerful weapons, they were—often used up in the height of human greed." Kol scoffed, took a swig of his wine, and frowned at Bonnie. His tone was grave. "Dozens of humans have found these Stones over the years. Some used them for good—to build cities, to forge bloodlines, to preserve a dying race. Others—they turned out to be dictators, mostly; you can name a few, I'm sure—others used them to bring their darkest desires to life.

"A misused Stone, Bonnie," he said, barely above a whisper, "spells chaos, death. I'd bet you everything I own that every considerable natural disaster, pandemic, or otherwise high death toll event has been directly or indirectly associated with a Stone of Grace. Mount Vesuvius. Shaanxi. Antioch. Hell, the Black Death and, more recently, AIDS, I'd wager. _Yes_ ," he added, addressing Bonnie's incredulous stare. "What do you think happened to the Roanoke Colony? People traveling the Bermuda Triangle? Think they simply vanished? Hardly." He let out a breathless laugh that chilled her. "Believe me, Bonnie. You don't want to know the truth." And something about the way told her indicated that he was absolutely right.

Bonnie shook her head violently, still processing. "So… okay. That's interesting about the origin story of the Philosopher's Stone, but… you're telling me that it exists. That _they_ ," she corrected herself, "exist. Angels. Plural."

"Exist _ed_ ," Kol revised. " _Not_ plural. Well… if you believe in that sort of thing." His expression was neutral.

She let out a hiss of air. If demons could exist, it would follow that angels could as well… She bit back a groan, mind not ready to weigh the complications of that particular nugget of realization. "So… what's the point of telling me all this?"

Kol raked his fingers through his dirty blond hair and sat back in his seat. "There's still one left, Bonnie. One Stone is still around, somewhere out there. A Stone that was a little harder to find, and a _lot_ more powerful than the rest, so powerful that its own magic cloaked it for millennia from those unworthy to be present in its Grace. A Stone that was not forged from a lesser angel, but from an Archangel favored by Heaven itself before his fall."

Bonnie blinked at what Kol has said, then started when she realized what he was implying. "You mean…" she could barely get the words out. "Lucifer?... _Seriously_?" She couldn't think but for her incredulity.

"Seriously," Kol assented, taking a draught of his champagne. Sitting back in his seat, the vampire fixed Bonnie with a pensive stare. "So? Have I gotten you intrigued?" The firelight from the grand dining room cast the room in a warm orange glow that softened the sharpness of his features.

"Somewhat. You still haven't told me the most important part of this, ah, _tale_." Bonnie crossed her arms. "What exactly do _you_ want with this fabled Stone, then?" It was phrased like a question, but dictated like a demand.

Kol grimaced, brow furrowing. "And… if I couldn't tell you right away?"

Bonnie pushed her chair away from the table and stood up, tossing her napkin on the plate before her. Smoothing her hands over the front of her dress, she gave the Original a biting smile as sharp as her flashing eyes.

"Goodbye, Kol." She began to make her way towards the door, hells tapping on the polished wooden floors and echoing around the arched, high ceilings.

Kol gaped after her for a moment. "Wait!" he called after her. "Okay! Okay." He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his visage and looking simultaneously frustrated and exhausted. "Yes. I'll tell you. _Okay_."

Bonnie was still facing the doorway. Hand still outstretched towards the doorknob, she hesitated, and cursed herself for it. _Damn_ her curiosity.

If Bonnie thought back to this moment, this clear, lucid moment of calm before the storm, if she concentrated really hard, she could almost recreate the metallic tang of blood on her tongue and taste the panic, rising palpable on her flushing skin and cheeks like steam. If she thought back on this evening, she could remember every terrible detail of what happened next.

Suddenly, with a gust of air, the doors of the dining room swung open, smacking against the solid stone walls behind them with a deafening _CRACK_. Bonnie stumbled back in alarm, tripping over the threadbare Oriental carpet strewn across the before the dining table. As she laid eyes on the figure standing in the doorway, she couldn't help the sharp gasp that escaped her.

Klaus.

Bonnie's head sharply snapped in Kol's direction. The younger vampire had risen from his seat in surprise, linen napkin sliding from his lap onto the floor, long-forgotten. "Brother," Kol started, but as his eyes slid over Klaus, concern darted rapidly across his quickly paling features.

"Kol. We have trouble," Klaus growled, swiping away the blood that was dripping down into his eyes. "I think they might have followed—" He broke off.

Suddenly, there was a terrible, squelching, tearing sound. With a dawning horror, Klaus looked down, at the spiky black object sticking out of the middle of his chest, wondered as it rose and fell and rose again against the intrusion. Klaus looked back up at Bonnie and, blood trickling out of the side of his mouth, opened it to speak—perhaps to give a warning, perhaps a prayer. He never got the chance. A cracking, splitting sound rent the air and Klaus shuddered, gasped, and went limp, eyes rolling back and sliding closed as the shadowy blade punched a bigger hole through his chest cavity. Everyone in the room watched in horror as slowly, Klaus was lifted into the air like a rag doll. Blood and gore fell in ropes from the gaping wound in the middle off his chest, coating the floor in thick, dark splashes.

The air grew thick and quiet. Bonnie watched as if in slow motion as the shadows of the doorway thickened, swirled, and slowly eased into the room like a giant cloud of shapeless smoke. Smoke that took the form of the creature that had attacked Bonnie those days ago in the motel room.

She choked back a scream that dredged itself up her throat.

"Niklaus!" Kol rushed forwards, face darkening in the most terrifying expression of anger she had seen on him yet.

Almost lazily, the creature's tentacle-like arm shot forwards and snapped like a whip at Kol's neck. Blood sprayed everywhere, drenching Bonnie from head to foot as Kol's head lolled backwards off his shoulders, revealing artery and spine in gruesome, bloody detail. Kol's body thudded lifelessly to the floor.

Without a sound, the foul creature rose from its victims and turned to face her.

Bonnie covered her mouth with both hands, tasting Kol's blood, and screamed.

* * *

"Took you long enough."

Her voice was amber: smooth, warm, and rippling; clearly, she had anticipated him since the first. That would explain the ease with which Damon found her after that startling encounter mere days ago. He found her, of all places, holed up in a cramped, musty motel room above one of the stores on Main Street.

Waiting. Like she wanted to be found.

 _Well, I've found you, Kat_ , Damon thought to himself. Trap or no, he was here. Shaking it loose from its position up his sleeve, Damon palmed the blade that was strapped there.

"Damon." Smirking that little pixie-like come-hither smirk, Katherine rose from her chair in a fluid motion.

It took no hesitation for Damon to slide the blade from its sheath and, with a sweeping motion, sink it deeply into Katherine's side. The force of his attack, done at vampiric speed, threw Katherine bodily against the wall. Damon gripped her forehead with his free hand and slammed her head back against the drywall, showering them in bits of plaster and dust. Fingers slippery with Katherine's blood, he gripped the knife more tightly and jerked it upwards savagely, piercing through the older vampire further and lifting her off her feet completely so that both booted feet dangled beneath her helplessly.

The knife began to glow; a soft sort of luminescence at first, but then brighter and brighter, until it looked as if Katherine were impaled on a shard of pure light, as bright as it was completely cool. Katherine's blows grew feeble, strength waning as the knife glowed whiter still.

"What are you doing?" Katherine hissed through gritted teeth, barely able to keep her eyes open through the pain.

"A little trick that I learned from an old friend," Damon snarled, twisting the knife again and feeling a rush of satisfaction as the knife dug caught against bone. He was rewarded with a breathless gasp of pain as Katherine's hands scrabbled against his arms and chest, fingernails raking across his cheek and drawing blood. "As long," Damon explained quietly, "as this blade is in your body, you can't heal. And—this is my _favorite_ bit, by the way—your vampire strength is dulled completely. Congratulations, Katherine," Damon spat, "you're as good as human to me right now."

An iridium blade, cured in dead man's blood—a supernatural creature's bane, and a hunting tool few knew about. Fewer still, when Damon was through with them. Damon gave a silent thank-you to Alaric and his many hunting words of wisdom he had imparted upon Damon before he passed.

"So, Katherine. I'm going to ask you once, and you're going to tell me the truth, or I will gladly saw through that pretty little neck of yours with this knife," Damon breathed, face mere inches from her own. "So let's skip the flirty repartee and get right down to the _heart_ —," he gave another savage twist of the blade, "…of the matter."

Katherine's eyes widened slightly as she realized just how serious he was. "Damon, I—" she gasped, clawing at the hand holding the knife lodged in her ribs.

"Now, tell me, before I carve it out of you," Damon continued, ignoring her pleas. "Where. Is. _**BONNIE!**_ "


	9. In the Naked Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You never quite get over your first love. Bonnie learns this the hard way.

The air smelled of ash, sulfur, and the bitter taint of charred flesh, an odor that carried on the wind far ahead of its source. In the sky, the shyest hint of daylight had not yet formed and so the stars still winked defiantly down on the scene below, silent witnesses to the harrowing events of the past forty-eight hours.

Carnage was something that, as a young man and new vampire, Damon had familiarized himself with regularly. His first war had deadened him to the sight of thousands dead men lying spoiled and bloating in the sun as far as the eye could see; his second war accustomed him to seeing men cut down and shredded by machine guns in no-man's land as they cried out for their gods, their mothers, their comrades, their ends. Damon could remember every second of the trenches, every moment a minié ball tore through the spines or the skulls of his Confederate brothers instead of himself.

By the time Germany invaded Poland Damon had decided he had had his fill of battle—and yet, still he went. For the glory, most certainly not. Duty, perhaps, was more tolerable an inclination.

But, underneath it all, Damon had no misconceptions about the kind of man he was. He was the man who was called upon to do the killing when it needed to be done.

Some called that noble.

Most called it murder.

Ever since those days he fought an exclusively different kind of war: as one of the supernatural, always looking over his shoulder for the shadow of his enemies… and they were numerous. Yet for all his dislike of mass slaughter on the battlefront, Damon Salvatore was not a man to shy away from common, everyday violence, no matter the scale of gruesome.

Particularly on behalf of those he cared about.

"Jesus," Damon breathed, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel of his Audi anxiously. The _smell_ filled the inside of his car, fumes of death and decay so potent that his eyes threatened to water. Worry had been his constant companion these past few days, but now his emotions had shifted, and he found himself grappling with fear, the kind that stopped his heart cold in his chest when he realized what he was looking at. Fear for _Bonnie_ , of all people. Bonnie, who out of all of them could very well take care of herself. And the rage he felt at feeling that fear, for Bonnie (of all people), well. He had flashbacks of all the violence he had done… and anticipated, with shaking hands, the violence he would have do before the deed was done.

He was there, right where she said he should be looking for Bonnie. After Damon had threatened to bleed the truth out of her, the secrets came tumbling from Katherine's lips like jewels, one right after the other with an urgency that reminded Damon once again what a self-centered bitch of a bullet he had dodged when it came to Katherine Pierce.

She had told him of a house: a house, cloaked by spellwork, which only those with knowledge of its whereabouts could see or discover. It was tucked well into the wilderness of Bear Creek Bay, Montana, and there, Katherine intimated, was where he could find his "precious witch" ( _words spat like venom from her bloodied lips as she laughed into each twist of his knife. Laughed as if she enjoyed it_ ). He was already on the road halfway there before he realized that he hadn't even asked Katherine how she knew such things. Not that he cared. When it came to Bonnie, Damon was very singular in his thoughts.

And he was currently of a mind to drag her ass all the fucking way back home. Kicking and screaming, if he had to. He'd probably enjoy it, too.

Lifting the hem of his tee shirt to cover his sensitive nose, Damon turned off the quietly idling engine of his car and stepped out into the blanketing quiet of the forests surrounding. Underbrush and mud squelched beneath underneath his feet as he ground them into the forest floor, gazing at the sight before him. It had rained recently. And a good thing it had, too, given the scene before him.

The mansion was right there where Katherine said it was. Only…

It wasn't much of a mansion, not anymore. What lay in his line of sight was instead a steaming, smoking, burnt-out hulk of a building. It was clear that the glamour, along with the destruction of the house, had crumbled and ceased to exist, for when Damon stepped closer, the image held.

The burnt remains were no glamour. The house, and its magic, was destroyed.

That could only mean one thing. Some sort of great outburst of magic had happened here. For a spell of that magnitude, potency, and age, only like could destroy like; he had gleaned at least that much from his many encounters with magic in the past. Damon toed a charred plank of broken wood and frowned up at the smoldering ruins, forcing himself to remain calm and _think_ , goddammit. He was no use to Bonnie without a level head.

"What happened to you?" He found himself asking softly no one in particular as he gazed at the sight before him, shirt still covering his nose to protect him from the stench as it wafted towards him.

The forest, silent and watchful as ever, swallowed up his words without so much as a reply.

* * *

" _Stefan!"_

_That was her screaming, she was sure of it._

" _Stefan! No! Don't hurt him!"_

_Why was she saying that? Who was Stefan hurting? Bonnie felt like she should know the answer to this but for some reason it evaded her cleverly, and she found herself too tired to care._

_She saw Stefan's face, eyes shining with unshed tears. Tears… and fury._

_She saw Elena, stricken, pale as a shadow and clinging to the crook of Damon's elbow as if he could anchor her to the spot._

_She saw Damon, defiantly furious, eyes dead as he gazed back at her with such malice that it felt like he was drawing a blade up her spine, slowly but surely paralyzing her with his indifference._

" _You got what you wanted."_

" _Stefan! No! Don't hurt him!"_

" _You got what you wanted."_

" _Stefan! No! Don't hurt him!"_

" _You got what you—"_

" _Stefan! No! Don't—"_

Bonnie felt a cool hand press itself to her forehead and somewhere in the depths of her psyche, she retreated further into the dark.

* * *

Bonnie blinked her eyes open.

She was lying down in a field of swaying poppies, bobbing in a wind that she couldn't feel. Sunlight bathed her, caressing and warm, though not too warm for discomfort. The sky was the impossible robin's egg blue that only appeared in dreams, or in the sky after a particularly violent storm. Bonnie wondered if perhaps she were experiencing both.

Slowly, she became more aware of herself in relation to her surroundings. She was wearing the same dress that she must have been wearing when—

_Blood. Screaming. Blood on her face, on her neck, all over. The floor, the body. The decapitated head._

_Her dress was torn and her legs showered with cuts, open and bleeding all over her hands as she gasped and opened her mouth to_ —

—she wasn't quite sure when, really. Idly, Bonnie picked at the hem of the black dress she was wearing, already forgetting what she was thinking about. It was a dress of high quality, if a little too plain.

Slowly, she planted her feet on the ground and rose, dusting herself off and gathering her bearings. Poppies tickled the bare soles of her feet as she moved. A quick three-sixty scan of the field told her exactly two things: one, she had never been to this place, real or imagined; and two, she was not alone in this dreamspace. A small figure in the distance traversed the horizon briefly before making its way towards her, picking a path through the brightly blood-hued poppies with the careful ease of familiarity.

Bonnie contemplated running, but dismissed it after a pause. Perhaps it was because she did not know where she was or how she had gotten there, and perhaps this person did. Or perhaps it was because she was tired of running, of being a coward in the real world.

Here, at least, she could show a little more backbone, powers or no.

As the figure came closer, Bonnie felt the world screech to a halt. She practically stumbled forward with the lack of planetary inertia beneath her feet, or maybe that was because suddenly she was flying, racing towards the figure that had now stopped in the middle of the poppy field about twenty yards from her, close enough for her to trust in her heart to know who he was.

He stretched out his arms and she collided into him, knocking him down to the ground where he landed with a muffled _oof!_ and a peal of laughter. Together, they rolled over and over, poppies bending and crushing underneath their combined weight as Bonnie tangled her limbs with his.

Finally, they came to a stop, and Bonnie allowed herself to gaze down at him in wonder. "Jeremy?" she squinted, not daring to believe. "Jeremy!"

"Bonnie!" His voice sang through her. The omnipotent joy in that one syllable masked any surprise that he may have expressed at seeing her. She sat back on his waist, back knocking against his bent knees. He smiled up at her, propping himself up on one elbow and tilting his head back to catch the sun with his eyes closed, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, the two of them, rolling around in a poppy field in the middle of neither here nor there.

She dropped back down and threw her arms around his neck, breathing him in as he rubbed a circle into her back with his free hand. He was warm, oh _god_ , he was warm, and he smelled like musk and cinnamon and pure _Jeremy_ , and his arms around her felt so right that hot tears pricked her eyes, a sharp response to the stabbing pain in her chest. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed; not before a tear trickled out, searing a scorching path down her cheek and dripping to the swaying grass blades below. Jeremy slowly sat up, taking her with him as she lay in his lap. There, they sat, breathing in tandem.

"Is this real?" Bonnie's words were muffled as she pressed her nose into his chest. She felt the weight of his cheek on the top of her head and the tentative way his hands settled in the gently sloping crux between her ribs and hips, like they belonged there, like they never left. Bonnie felt another acute ache in her core as she felt his ribs expand and contrast with each breath beneath her tightly gripping fingertips. He was _breathing_. He was alive. _Jeremy_.

"Please, Jer," and when she spoke again her voice was thick, "Please let this be real."

Jeremy's fingers gently tangled in her hair and he pressed a swift kiss her temple before placing both hands on her shoulders, neither pulling her closer nor pushing her away. It was a gesture so him—always patient, waiting for her to be the first to move away—that it took her a moment to compose herself because she felt so much like crying. Bonnie extricated herself somewhat from him, regretfully, and took a moment to get a good, hard look at his face.

He seemed to have grown even more handsome than before, if that were possible. Sun dappled his hair, catching the bronze highlights in his thick brown shag of locks—longer than they had been in years—and giving him a halo-like glow. The roses in his cheeks were practically ruddy as he grinned gently up at her, teeth gleaming and eyes full of warmth. As he gazed at her, his expression seemed to mirror her own, gazing intently, desperately drinking in every detail of her face as if his memories were a sieve, about to run out at any moment.

"I missed you," he said simply, still beaming in such an infectious and charming manner that Bonnie couldn't help responding in kind. "And yes, this is real, not a dream. Well, not... technically. I think. Anyway, wouldn't you say this was a good dream if it were? I can be shirtless, if you like. Make it a really good dream..." He wiggled his eyebrows at her and looked at her through his long lashes, throwing her a sly smirk.

Bonnie laughed, a choked, surprised sound that caught in her throat like she didn't remember how laughing worked in the first place. It felt good. Unexpected.

"How did I get here? How are you here? Where are we?" Bonnie fired off, still beaming down at him.

Jeremy chuckled at her onslaught of questions, shooting her a baffled grin of his own. "No clue... I was kind of hoping you would tell me that, actually," he admitted, catching her eyes with a contemplative look of his own. "I was minding my own business and then suddenly I felt this... I dunno... _tug_ , I guess. Like, you know when you have something really important to do, but you can't remember what it is?" Bonnie nodded against him. "So, something like that. And then I opened my eyes and I was here." He let out a bemused chuckle. "Weird, right?"

"Right," Bonnie murmured, still gazing at him with such a fierce intensity that Jeremy actually blushed.

"It's weird being on the receiving end on one of those intense smolders," Jeremy joked softly, rubbing the back of his neck, which was slowly turning cherry red. "Usually it was me giving you those. Remember?"

Bonnie had the grace to duck her head down a bit, curtain of hair obscuring the smile that was equal parts embarrassed and flattered.

Her hand nudged his tentatively. Jeremy looked startled, as is still getting used to the idea of touching her again. Then, with a smile that could have outshone the sun, he laced his long fingers with hers and gripped tightly.

After a while, he spoke.

"You've got to go back, you know," he sighed into her hair. She shook her head wordlessly against his chest, nestling her forehead in between the warm space between his collarbone and his jaw. He shivered and pulled her more tightly to him, as if somehow they could merge together into one if few enough atoms were left between them.

Bonnie was adamant. "Can't. Won't." Even if she didn't remember what it was she was returning to or how to get there, she knew for a fact that she didn't want to leave this safe place.

Jeremy's voice rumbled through his chest as he stroked a thumb down the curve of her cheek. With a wistful sigh, he pressed his lips to her crown and pushed her away from him by the shoulders, all the better to look her directly in her eyes. His tone was firm and unyielding as he stared at her.

"You _must_ , Bonnie. It's not your time." His smile was as gentle as the hand he used to cup her chin and lift her gaze to his. "You have so much work left to do."

Bonnie could feel it, even here in the hereafter, or whatever this place was—the bone-deadening, heart-sinking _weariness_ —seeping over from her life to follow her even in death.

"You're _not_ dying, Bonnie," Jeremy interrupted her thought train sternly, raising a brow and shaking her gently. "Now stop that." Somehow it followed that her thoughts would instantly be understood by Jeremy with a mere glance at her face.

"Can you at least tell me what this," she waved her hands around at the poppy field, "is? Because poppies are kind of a recurring thing for me, dreamwise, and I'm not quite sure how literally to take this whole dream-or-not-dream… thing." She ended lamely.

"The way I understand it, this is some sort of shared space between us. A safe place for you that people you trust are allowed into. All," he reached up and tapped her temple gently, "up there. Neat, isn't it?"

Bonnie nodded, mouth slightly open. "How do you know all this stuff? And since when are you more of an expert on witchy psychic whatnot than I am?"

The sly smile was back on his face. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he gave a nonchalant shrug, an impressive feat from his position on the ground. "You know, when you're dead, you pick up a thing or two in your travels."

 _Dead_. The word stopped Bonnie cold. A pressure began to build inside her, and, like a fractured dam, it was only a matter of time before the emotion swelled to bursting in her chest. As if sensing the storm inside her, Jeremy placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, giving her an assuring look.

"Bonnie, don't go there," he advised, giving her a look that was kind but pitying. His doelike brown eyes, so like Elena's in their own way, looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he merely appended, "What's done is done."

Bonnie reached down and snapped off a crimson poppy blossom from its stem and slowly shredded the petals between her fingers. Slowly, softly, she asked, "What if it could be undone?"

Jeremy stopped stock still, face slowly darkening. For the first time, he showed the slow signs of anger in the way his mouth pinched together and his eyes simmered close to blazing. He roughly grabbed Bonnie's wrists, shaking the destroyed poppy from her grip. "Don't you ever—Bonnie, _look_ at me," Jeremy urged, jerking her towards him. "Don't you _ever_ try that. _**Ever**_ **.** Not for me, not for _**anyone**_! Do you hear me?"

Bonnie nodded wordlessly, bitterly jerking her hands out of his.

"Jesus," Jeremy laughed and cast his head back, nervously eyeing her through his fringe of lashes. "Don't scare me like that, Bon. You've played with that shit before. Remind me, how did that end up?" He seemed to be prompting her, like a teacher would a student.

Bonnie felt a prick of annoyance, coupled with more than a little embarrassment. She responded by smiling sheepishly and smacking him on the chest with the back of her hand. "Badly, you ass. No need to remind me."

"Apparently there is," Jeremy said with such seriousness that the smile slid right off her face.

Bonnie coughed, breaking eye contact with Jeremy to stare out at the sunny horizon. They settled into companionable silence, watching the sun slowly make its way sideways across the sky, never sinking, never rising.

* * *

"How is she?" The words were whispered softly, and the fingers placed at the prone witch's temple were snatched back quickly upon contact. "Jesus. She's burning up."

Her shallow breaths seemed labored, and she neither stirred nor gave any other indication that she had felt his touch. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on her brow.

The other voice was softer still, silky and pensive as its owner dipped a washcloth in a bowl of cool water mixed with ground herbs and crushed poppy blossoms. His companion shot him a questioning look.

"I've lived long enough to pick up a few things from the witches I've known. And killed," the elder said by means of reply. "She's lost inside her mind. This eases some of the psychic pain she's experiencing." He pointed one long finger at each of the different leaves and petals floating in the water. "Bay for clarity. Caraway and yarrow for protection. Clove for cleansing…" he sighed wearily. "Mint and valerian for foundation."

The other dipped his fingertip in the bowl, skimming across the petals of a floating red-orange blossom bobbing in the water. "And the poppy?" He flicked the beads of moisture away from his fingers in distaste.

The other paused, deep in thought. "When I attempted to penetrate her thoughts, that's all I could see. Poppies mean something to her, something important, perhaps something she does not realize or has repressed.

"I added poppy to guide her home."

* * *

Jeremy stopped speaking suddenly, brow furrowing in confusion. His hands tensed on her arms and immediately she could sense that something had put him on high alert.

Slowly standing, he swiveled around, intently eyeing the horizon in every direction that it extended. "I think..." he hesitated, listened, then continued. "I think our time is up. You need to go. _Now_."

His voice was calm, but his jaw clenched tightly as his eyes darted around the serene landscape, searching intently for something Bonnie could neither sense nor see.

"What? What is it?"

"Up." And he was pulling her to her feet.

Bonnie frowned, vision blurring.

" _You need to go! Now!"_

 _She could hear the flick of a lighter, the tearing of fabric. She could smell the burning and hear the screaming and the breaking of glass and the shrieking as the creature—the tentacled, rotting,_ dead _creature that wore shadows like a second skin—went up in flames. She could hear the screaming._

_Screaming._

_The screams were her own._

" _You need to go!_ _ **Now**_ _!"_

"Bonnie!"

Bonnie jerked back to the present. "Hmm?" She tried to remember what she had been thinking of, but for some infuriating reason it kept evading her like smoke wending through her fingers.

"Do you trust me?"

Her heart swelled at the question, a question that he had asked her before and time again. It was always the same answer.

"Always, Jer," she replied, throat constricting around his name like it didn't quite want to let it go.

"Good. 'Don't trust the man with two faces.'"

Bonnie blinked, completely thrown. "What's that supposed to mean?"

For his part, Jeremy looked as confused as she. "I—it slipped out. I don't—I'm not quite sure. I keep getting this feeling like I was supposed to tell you that. Like someone told me to tell you—"

And then the air grew eerily still and silent. Bonnie could hear nothing but the sound of her own breathing, coming in harsh bursts like the wheeze of a bellows. Suddenly, a fiery, blinding white light coalesced in the sky, rupturing the sun and making Bonnie and Jeremy shield their eyes from the source.

Bonnie felt the hairs stirring at the back of her neck and shivered. Wind. She could _feel_ the wind, here in this dreamworld. And it was deathly cold.

The fireball in the sky shivered, expanded, then imploded, all without a sound. A yawning darkness filled the space in its stead, and all around them they were plunged into a red-tinted world, as if the moon was passing before the sun. The shockwave of the light explosion came a few seconds later, riding a clap of thunder-like sound, booming outwards and driving Jeremy and Bonnie stumbling back with its force. The wind began picking up in earnest and somewhere in the distance, a discordant hollow sound, like deep wind chimes, met Bonnie's ears.

Something was coming.

* * *

"Something's wrong."

A pause. "What?"

"There's something wrong, she's…" The other passed a hand over his face, smoothing away the imperceptible beginnings of concern that were forming there.

The lilting voice sounded bored. "What are you going on about? She hasn't moved at all since last we checked."

Fortunately for both of them, that wasn't entirely true. "There!" A tremor, ever so slight, in the girl's eyelids. Her breathing steepened subtly enough, yet both vampires, now listening for it, heard it acutely.

The man tossed his companion a look somewhat adjacent to triumph. However, he second man shook his fair head of hair.

"She's not out of the woods yet. She must come to us herself. We cannot aid her in this endeavor, else there is no knowing what part of her we might bring back… and what parts we could accidentally leave behind."

"We have to do something." It was a statement, a demand, even.

The other _tsk_ ed and dipped the cool washcloth in the basin of herbs, once more dabbing it along the girl's brow. "We _are_ doing something. We are waiting. Haven't you learned patience by now, Stefan?"

The former lapsed into silence, proffering no answer. His slate eyes glittered intently as, wordlessly, he resumed his vigil over the witch's prone body.

* * *

"What's going on? Jeremy!" Bonnie cried out.

Jeremy's face was a mask of determination. His head whipped to face her and his eyes positively blazed. "I need to you to wake up, Bonnie. Can you do that?"

She shook her head desperately. "What? I—I don't remember—I can't!"

"Yes. You. **Can**." Jeremy nodded with each word, smiling that dazzling smile of his. "You are Bonnie Bennett. You can do _anything_ you put your mind to. And right now," he tossed a look over his shoulder at some indeterminate point just past the horizon that only he seemed to sense, "I need you to do this for me, okay? If you can't do it for yourself, do it for me. Open your eyes."

Tears pricked her eyes. She couldn't leave. Not Jeremy. Never Jeremy. "I'm staying here. With you. We'll face it together," she argued breathlessly.

The poppies around them began to die, one by one, browning and twisting along their stems until the blackness consumed the petals as well. Bonnie gaped at the flowers, shivering through a sense of déjà vu.

Jeremy's frustration began to seep into his words. "Bonnie, please! Don't argue with me! You need to wake up. They can't find you! Not here!"

"Who? Who can't find me, Jer?"

" **GO**!" He thundered, pushing her away roughly.

Bonnie stumbled back and swallowed past the aching tightness of her throat. "I don't want to leave you," she confessed in a meek whisper.

His hands pressed to her neck and he drew her to him, desperately clinging to her. She committed every inch of him to her mind like a lost memory, feeling the rough skin of his cheek and the dip between his collarbones and the salty taste of his lips against hers as he brought them crashing down to meet her parted mouth.

"For luck," he groaned against her and she nodded wordlessly, clutching his forearms as the gale picked up force around them.

His teeth grazed upon her lower lip and he tugged, smiling into her. Always smiling, for her and only her. For all the desperation of their lips, he still held her in his arms with such gentleness that Bonnie felt like her heart might snap in two right there and then. Jeremy leaned back, hesitated, then ducked down and pressed his lips to hers once more before stepping back and pushing her away. With a pained expression, he turned towards the dark and gathering storm. Wind whipped at their hair and clawed at their clothes, and around them, the cold began to seep.

"Go!" His voice was hoarse but calm as he shouted over the howling of the wind.

"No! I'm not leaving you!" Bonnie fiercely retorted. "Not again." Her hair whipped into her eyes and they stung, but not from the force of the wind.

Jeremy turned back to face her with an expression that was a mixture of amusement and anguish. "Bonnie, you're going where I can't follow. I need you to go, **now**!" His face grew stony once more, jaw clenching and hands tightening into fists, determination a poem etched into every hard angle of his face, every taut cord of muscle in his body. His eyes took on the desperation his voice refused to betray. "You need to leave, Bonnie. I can't hold them off for long."

Bonnie bit her lip and the tears flowed freely. Her voice was small, but he heard every word. "Please," she begged. "Jer… I can't lose you. Not again."

Jeremy growled deep in his throat and stepped towards her, grabbing her hands in his enormous ones and cupping them to his chest. "You never lost me, Bonnie!" He grabbed her chin and forced her to look into his eyes once more. "I've always been here, watching over the people I left behind. Watching you."

She let out a choked sound.

"Don't worry." Jeremy's face was earnest, and even though his own eyes were filled with tears, he managed to smile around them. "You're the medium now, remember? You can see me out there, if you know where to look. And—Bonnie, I swear, I will always, _always_ come when you call." He gave her a wistful smile, one corner of his mouth tugging up. He looked young. Alive.

Bonnie smiled back through her tears, though they didn't reach her eyes. Impulsively, she caught his left hand with her own and twined her hand with his, fingers tracing by instinct over the invisible twining branches of the hunter's mark that only he alone could fully see. She bowed her head and, trembling, brushed her lips across his knuckles in a feather-light kiss before pressing their hands to her cheek, slick with tears. Then she pulled away and ran.

Behind her, the tsunami of darkness thundered, fractured, and came crashing down like a shower of broken glass.

* * *

In a world once removed, several hundred miles away, Bonnie Bennett awoke with a gasp.


	10. Talking Without Speaking, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1/2. Elena worries about Damon, Damon looks for Bonnie, and we discover what happened between Bonnie and Damon all those years ago.

Making tea was something Elena rarely did anymore. Being a vampire meant that she didn't have cause to consume anything other than blood, and so if indeed she made tea it was a ceremonial action, merely a steaming cup of hot water and a soaking sachet that filled the air with herbal scents and reminded her a bit of the little things she liked to do when she was human. It was a soothing action, tea-making, and Elena found just as much comfort in the preparation as in the consumption. Serving no practical purpose nowadays, Elena only ever made tea when she was entertaining guests, or when she was worried.

Today, she was both.

Caroline was in the kitchen with her, sitting at the worn kitchen table and rubbing her thumb absentmindedly over a scratch in the wood, one of the many features that Aunt Jenna had once said gave the little thrift shop find "character." Now all Elena could do when she saw the scratches and pockmarks was think of how much the surface of that table represented her life: worn and blemished, irreparably so.

Sliding a mug of steaming water across the table, Elena placed the tea tin in front of Caroline and sat down across from her, holding a matching mug in her own hands. Caroline delicately plucked a tea sachet from the canister and sank it into the hot water, smiling gratefully as the warm scent of cinnamon and apple spice wafted towards her nose. Elena herself chose rose hip, a favorite of late, and allowed the steam to bathe her senses before blowing gently over her mug and taking a tentative sip. The hot beverage scalded her tongue, which healed instantly, but the memory of the sting remained. Elena accepted the pain without comment.

The two friends sat in silence for a moment, sipping their tea, neither one willing to break the quiet and broach the subject that both of them had convened there to discuss.

Finally unable to stand it any longer, Caroline cleared her throat and ventured, "So." She hesitated slightly before continuing, more gently, "How are you holding up?"  _About Jeremy_ was implied in the way Caroline's eyes were tight around the edges, darting over her friend as she noted the bags under her eyes, the slumped and bony shoulders, the glassy nature of Elena's stare.

Elena shook her head slowly, feeling around the warm sides of her mug absently.

"Truth?" she asked dully.

Caroline nodded, tossing her full head of shining blonde curls and waiting. Elena let out a stream of air, grimacing without realizing it.

"I don't really know. It's been two and a half weeks since I heard about his death and sometimes," she shook her head, bemused, "sometimes it feels like it isn't real. Like I'll just wake up and come downstairs to find him at the stove making those horrible half-burnt, half-raw blueberry disasters he calls— _called_ —pancakes. God," she let out a harsh laugh, "I still am getting used to talking about him in the past tense."

Her mug clinked on the tabletop and she pressed her shaking fingers flat across the wooden surface. Caroline reached across the table and laid her hand on Elena's, giving it a small squeeze. With a bracing, sad smile, she nodded sympathetically. "I know. We all miss him." She paused, then asked tentatively, "Have there been any leads at all on his case?"

Elena took in a large breath and exhaled slowly before taking a small sip of tea. She shook her head. "Same as what the police said the first time. They're calling it a freak accident. No DNA evidence. No witnesses. He was on a deserted beach after sundown with the tide coming in. I mean… it's not like they had a lot to go on to begin with. They didn't even find his body right—right away," Elena stumbled over the words slightly, brow furrowing as she tried and failed to ignore the tightness in her chest.

Caroline nodded and gave Elena's hand another pat. Deftly, she switched the subject, sensing it was in Elena's best interests. "So, uh… Where's Damon? Is he at the mansion…?" She thought the house seemed a little too quiet.

Elena shook her head and tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear, fixing Caroline with a troubled look. "That's part of why I called and asked you to come over. I think something's going on, and it has me kind of worried. I might need your help," she revealed.

Caroline nodded, setting her tea mug aside and pulling her chair in closer to the table. "Sure, Elena. Anything at all, just let me know."

Elena reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out her cell phone. Placing it flat on the table between the two of them, she dialed her voicemail and waited, fingers twisting in her lap.

" _No new messages. First saved voice message._ " Caroline ducked her head down and listened.

It was a message from Damon, and to Caroline, he sounded like he was worried. She could hear the undertone of stress in his voice and the tunnel-like roar of wind in the background of the voicemail, as if Damon were driving top down, at high speed when he made the call.

" _Elena, if you get this,_ stay at home.  _There's another vampire in town. I don't know who yet. They're dangerous, and they might be with Bonnie. Yes,_ _Bonnie_ _, Elena. She came for the funeral. They might have taken her, I—I don't know._ "

Caroline's mouth dropped open at the sound of Bonnie's name. She looked up at Elena, startled, and Elena nodded, then held up a finger.  _Wait_.

The message continued.  _"There are vampires back in Mystic Falls, Elena. Vamps that aren't us. I don't know who they are, so I am begging you_ —begging you,  _Elena; listen to me!_ —stay at home.  _I'll see you there soon. Love you._ "

The call disconnected, and the automated messaging voice took over. Elena turned off the phone.

Caroline sat back in her chair, mind reeling. "What—who do you think he was talking about?" she asked, voice pitched a little higher than normal. She realized that she was squeezing the table so tightly that her fingernails were digging into the wood.

Elena sighed, tracing the lip of her mug. "That's the thing. When I last talked to him—after he left that message, I assume—he thought that I was with Matt on Main Street. But in reality, I was actually nowhere  _near_  Main Street. I was on Eastern, wrapping up a few things with the insurance company," Elena explained, chewing her lip. "And then… the call dropped for some reason, and I couldn't get ahold of him again. I haven't heard from Damon since. This was two, going on three days ago."

Caroline shook her head, at a loss for words. She mulled over what Elena said, tugging at a strand of hair with ferocity. Suddenly, it clicked, and a dawning sense of dread filled her. Her eyes widened with panic as they settled on Elena. "You don't think… Not…"

Running her hands through her hair and rubbing her scalp, Elena shrugged one shoulder. She looked exhausted. "I think so. I think she's back," Elena confessed. "And either she has Damon or Bonnie, or… or Damon's left with her …" she spread her hands helplessly. "Or else she's done something to make him skip town. I don't know! He won't answer his phone. He won't text me. He didn't leave me any sort of message or… he just upped and left! And I have  _no idea_  what to do, Caroline," she finished with a half-choked sob.

"Oh, honey," Caroline's face crumpled and she got out of her chair, walking around the table and draping herself over Elena's shoulders, squeezing tightly. Settling her cheek on the crown of her friend's head, she murmured, "We'll figure it out. I'm going to help you, okay?" She rubbed Elena's shoulders reassuringly and leaned back. "Did you say that Matt was with her that day?"

Twisting in her chair to face Caroline, Elena nodded slightly. "Yeah," she said slowly, tapping her fingers along the tabletop. "D'you think we should check up on him? I dropped by the Grill two nights ago to talk to him about Damon, and he had no idea that it was Katherine he was talking to."

Caroline's brow furrowed as she thought. "Well, at this point, he's pretty much the only lead we have," she reasoned. "I'll give the sheriff's office a call, see that they know to be on the lookout for anything strange. In the meantime," she continued, "let's see if Matt can remember anything about that afternoon. Maybe he knows something that he didn't think was important at the time that might be able to help us figure out what Katherine's game plan is."

Elena nodded mutely, hands still wrapped around her tea mug. Compassion in her eyes, Caroline bent down and gave Elena another quick but strong hug. She felt Elena grip her arms tightly as if Caroline were the only thing keeping her from losing her grip on sanity.

"We'll find him, Elena. We'll figure out what's going on and we'll find Damon. I promise." She smiled brightly, hoping to convey the positivity that she didn't quite feel. She just hoped that she wasn't making a promise to Elena that she couldn't keep.

* * *

Damon trotted up the stairs that led to nowhere and stopped at the top, looking down his nose to survey the charred and broken crater of rubble and ruin that the mansion had become. From this vantage, he could peer into the heart of the building, see the foundation and the echoes of splendor that had existed before its demise. If he raised his head, he could view the skeleton-like structure of the beams and brickwork jutting out from the base, and in his mind's eye he could reconstruct somewhat what the house may have looked like once.

And still, the smell lingered, that unmistakable sickly sweetness of singed meat and bone. Pursing his lips and trying to breathe shallowly through his mouth instead of his nose, Damon eyed the burned remnants carefully, gaze trailing along each square foot, searching for the source. Even with his supernatural sight, it was difficult to distinguish one article of blackened mass from the next. Some fire it must have been, to blaze so brightly as to reduce everything in its path to the same indistinguishable, sooty remainder.

Suddenly, Damon saw something that made him do a double-take. There, underneath a riser that must have supported the ground floor of the building, he saw shape that looked suspiciously like… with vampiric speed, he raced towards the half-buried object, heart lodged firmly in his throat. When he saw what it was, his mouth dropped open, unable to think at first.

He saw the legs, splayed and bent at such an unnatural angle that his own limbs gave a sympathetic throb in response to the sight. Damon managed a wince. Poor bastard, whoever he was. The appendages were bare, as if all the articles that had clothed the body were burnt clean off in the inferno. Squatting down and gripping the wooden beam tightly, Damon lifted the heavy plank off of the body, only to almost drop the thing in shock when he saw what lay underneath.

The body was headless. Dragging and dropping the beam a good distance away, Damon clapped his hands together to rid them of some of the ash before kneeling down to get a better look at the body. In some strange, detached part of his mind he viewed the thing as a mannequin, all its parts in place except for the faceless head. Its skin was grey, pale, and, as Damon blinked wide-eyed down at the body, he realized it was—

"Desiccated," he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. If this headless body somehow managed to survive the fire completely unscathed, save for desiccation, that only meant one thing.

This body belonged to an Original vampire.

Damon stood up quickly as the pieces fell into place, both excitement and dread making it difficult for him to think linearly. He scratched at his days-old stubble pensively, unconsciously scrubbing soot onto his pale cheek. If the body was here, which Original did it belong to? And why were they here,  _headless_ , no less, when Bonnie was not?

And more importantly…  _where_  was their head?

Too many questions. Damon began circling the body, occasionally overturning rubble or squatting down to lift up planks or boulders of concrete and stone. Thankfully, whoever he was, the Original seemed to be the only casualty in whatever had happened at the mansion, as far as Damon could tell. As Damon searched, he reasoned with himself. If the vampire's body had remained relatively untouched, perhaps the head was intact as well. And if Damon could find it, and somehow reattach it… Would it work? He had to find out, and soon. He heaved a heavy sigh, the sound unnervingly loud in the otherwise blanketing quiet of the forest around him. Bonnie's time was running out, and he needed answers  _yesterday_.

Somehow thinking of her sent another pang of anxiety through him. He needed to find her; there was no doubt in his mind, no conception of failure.

Mouth settling into a grim line, Damon redoubled his efforts.

* * *

_**THREE YEARS AGO** _

Bonnie slid into the dark, quiet sanctuary of her home and closed the door behind her, leaning back against it for a moment and closing her eyes with a weary sigh. It had been a long day of college dorm shopping with Elena and Caroline, followed by a long night of arguing, once again, with her father over the phone while he was away on one of his frequent business trips.

Same shit, different day—somehow, despite both of their intentions at the start of the conversation, it had inevitably turned back around to the subject of Bonnie's future, and particularly, her choice of school. When she'd first told her dad that she intended to go to college in Boston, as opposed to a school within driving distance of Mystic Falls, her father had blown a gasket. It had made her life acutely miserable while at home, which explained why she spent as much time as possible over the past four months out of the house and away from her father's well-meaning but ill-placed intentions. Even while away on business, her father took every available moment to try and convince her that she was making a mistake. In a way, his reaction only confirmed that she wasn't making a mistake in the slightest. She just didn't have the heart to tell him that staying near Mystic Falls—near so many bad memories—was the last thing she ever wanted for herself.

Juggling the several shopping bags laden with back-to-school supplies, dorm essentials, and clothes for a New England fall, Bonnie lifted her elbow to turn on the light to the hallway. Kicking off her sneakers, she shifted some bags in her hands and tossed the keys to her Prius in the key dish on the end table before making her way towards the back of the house. Bonnie paused when she got to the stairway to dump the heavy bags at the base, gratefully flexing her fingers and hissing as they tingled with the return of blood flow. She then shrugged out of her jacket, which she tossed on the coat rack. Rolling her shoulders and humming an off-tune, half-remembered melody, Bonnie made her way into the dark of her living room, where she reached over, flicked on the lights… and promptly screamed.

" _ **Shhhh**_! Jesus, Bonnie!" Damon Salvatore shrank away from the sudden brightness, covering his eyes with one hand and accidentally sloshing a bottle of what appeared to be bourbon with wince-inducing abandon all over the newly-upholstered sectional.

"Damon!" Bonnie shrieked. She pressed a trembling hand to her heart, willing it to ease its frightened tempo. "What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?" Belatedly, she realized that she had raised an arm against him, prepared to defend herself with magic. With a touch of sheepishness and more than a bit of indignation, Bonnie lowered it and shoved it deep into her skirt pocket.

"You invited me in that one time, remember?" Damon looked at her balefully from under his thick shag of dark hair. He stank of drink, and even from her position all the way across the room, Bonnie could smell it.

Bonnie shook her head incredulously at him. "That wasn't an open invitation to just drop in unannounced and skulk in the dark corners of my house at odd hours of the night! What the actual  _hell_?" she repeated shrilly. "I almost set you on fire just now!"

"You are yelling right now and I don't—don't appreciate that," Damon slurred, standing up and swaying slightly. Then, more quietly, "I didn't know where else to go, actually."

Bonnie mouthed wordlessly for a moment before her pity—and curiosity—got the best of her. Letting out a world-weary sigh of exasperation—the joys of being friends with Damon Salvatore, she supposed—she threw up her hands and walked over to the couch where Damon was standing, throwing herself into it and crossing her legs primly at the knee. She patted the cushion next to her, brow rising slightly. Damon sat down with a  _whump_ , legs splayed, more alcohol splashing over his jeans and the floor. Bonnie cringed faintly, wondering how easily she would be able to get the smell out of the cushions in the morning. She then fixed Damon with a pointed stare, eyes glittering at him expectantly.

"So?" she prompted. "Spill. What the hell is going on that Damon Salvatore would choose grace me with his shitfaced presence?"

Damon grimaced and raised an eyebrow ruefully. "I think I might have fucked up, Bonnie," he said, voice low. His expression was absolutely miserable when he elaborated, "I went to see Elena."

Whatever clever retort Bonnie had had died on her lips at his words. She stiffened for a moment, then sighed and shook her head. "Damon," she admonished. "Don't you know the meaning of the word 'space?' The whole point of your little 'break' was so that Elena could figure out her feelings without the sire bond. Without  _either_  of you interfering," she emphasized sternly, tone very clear about which two people she was talking about. " _Especially_ considering she's headed off to UVA in the fall. She expressly asked you both to leave her alone! And you'd been so good about it too…"

And he had. For the past two months, Damon had handled the breakup surprisingly— _remarkably_ —well. He had been understanding, respectful, and mature throughout its entirety. But the way that his hands shook and his face looked haggard spoke volumes to Bonnie. She expected that he didn't spend much time sleeping these days.

Damon's head lolled around to fix her with red-rimmed, piercing blue eyes. "I  _know_  I was supposed to leave her be, Bonnie," he bemoaned, both hands clutching the handle of bourbon as if it were someone's neck. "I just… I had to tell her. It seemed important at the time. Now I know that it was just a mistake." His brows drew into a bitter expression as he took another swig of bourbon, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Bonnie fixed Damon with such a sympathetic look that Damon froze under the intensity of it, momentarily forgetting everything, even why he was there. Something in her look made him wish that he had cultivated a friendship with her long before it had actually happened. Maybe then he would have become a better person a lot sooner.

"Okay, that is absolutely enough of that," Bonnie declared, leaning over and tearing the bottle of alcohol out of Damon's hands, quick as a flash. The vampire let out a whine-like sound of protest, staring at his empty hands in dull surprise before angrily rounding on Bonnie.

However, Bonnie was already on her feet, tossing her curls matter-of-factly over her shoulder and gliding into the hallway, making her way to the kitchen. "Time to sober you up!" She called behind her cheerfully, leaving Damon no choice but to follow.

* * *

If someone had told him a week ago that he would be searching for an Original's head to complete the matching set, Damon would have laughed derisively in their face. Now, the only person who deserved the last laugh would probably be Bonnie Bennett. Somewhere, wherever she was sequestered away from him and the rest of the world, she had him running around in circles like a madman, with no thought to his responsibilities back home… for what? A chance to see her face again? An attempt to get some closure after all this time?

Like all things, Damon didn't think he deserved either. But, like the selfish bastard he was, he was sure as hell going to try to do both.

With this occupying the foremost of his thoughts, he almost didn't realize what he had tripped over until he had stumbled and nearly faceplanted in the sooty soil beneath. With an angry growl, Damon righted himself, feeling every bit the clumsy fool. Looking down at what he had stumbled on, his eyebrows skyrocketed with that unexpected, nauseating feeling of relief and shock in equal measure.

Well, he had found what he was looking for, that was for sure.

Kol Mikaelson's head, neatly cleft from his shoulders at the neck, was lying face-upwards and half-buried in the mansion's rubble. His eyes, unnervingly, were wide open and glassy, as if some taxidermist had come along and preserved the Original vampire completely. His skin, like the body he had left behind, was grey and marbled, veins protruding from his desiccated skin in such a grotesque manner that even Damon was a bit taken aback by his very physical reaction to the sight. Swallowing down the bile that he felt rising in his throat, Damon scrunched up his face and squatted down, reaching out hesitantly before drawing his hand back. Blowing a rush of air out of his cheeks, Damon frowned and then grabbed Kol's detached head by the scruff of his sandy hair, which was matted with blood, gore, and other unmentionable substances. Chewing the inside of his cheek, Damon swiftly walked through the destroyed remains of the house until he found the spot where Kol's naked but otherwise untouched body lay.

Damon raised his head to entreat the quickly darkening sky. "This had  _better_  work." The stars blinked back at him coolly, neither acknowledging nor answering his plea. After a moment's peace, Damon looked away and set to work.

Bending down at the knees, Damon lowered Kol's head to the stump of a neck that remained on his corpse. He aligned the two as best he could, wincing at the repulsive squelching and grinding noise the two body parts made joined crudely by his hands. With a vicious snap of his vampire incisors, Damon bit down on his wrist and held his arm out over Kol's mouth, dribbling a stream of dark, thick blood onto the Original's slightly parted lips. Gently lifting his fingers from the body and head, Damon allowed a satisfied tug of his lips as the two remained fused in place.

Damon shrugged out of his leather jacket and cast it over the dead vampire's hips to cover him up. Then, brushing off the knees of his jeans, Damon sat himself down on an overturned piece of concrete, crossed his legs at the ankle, and waited.

* * *

_**THREE YEARS AGO** _

Bonnie was having quite an odd night.

She had a drunken Damon Salvatore in her house, expecting  _her_  to console  _him_  somehow (after having broken into her house and ruined her furniture with the paint thinner he called alcohol, no less). Stranger than fiction, really, Bonnie realized with a wry chuckle as she rubbed the back of her neck before making her way into the kitchen. If the soft footfalls behind her were any indication, Damon was in tow. He let out a startled, unpleased sound as Bonnie turned on the overhead light that softly illuminated the otherwise moonlit kitchen.

Bonnie set the bottle of bourbon down on the island countertop before heading over to the cupboard to pull out a mug. While her back was turned, Damon sidled up to the counter and plucked the alcohol off of it, sly smile dancing along his lips. When Bonnie turned, Damon dangled the bottle out in front of him before winking and taking a sip.

"Wha—" Bonnie's eyes narrowed and she brandished the mug at him before rolling her eyes in defeat. "Whatever. Your liver."

Damon grinned triumphantly at her. "Well then, bless me being a vampire, with my wonderful healing abilities!" His hilariously slurred, affected southern Virginian twang succeeded in drawing forth an unexpected giggle from Bonnie before she fixed him with a stern look once more. Damon savored the small smile that she tried to hide from him regardless, irrationally proud at having been the one to put it on her face. He smiled back without realizing it, the first genuine,  _happy_  smile he'd had on his face since as long as he could remember. Sometimes it was terrifying how easy it was to smile around Bonnie Bennett.

"Would I be first?"

The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he had said. His voice was so soft that for a moment Bonnie thought she had imagined him speaking.

"I don't—I'm not quite sure I understand the context, Damon," Bonnie replied hesitantly, hands dropping down to play with the hem of her blouse.

"Would. You. Choose.  _Me_. First?" He emphasized, blue eyes glittering dangerously now. He saw the flash of startled concern darken Bonnie's face and he was glad, for once, that he was entirely too drunk to have what he was about to say taken seriously. "Forget Jeremy. Forget Elena and Stefan. Forget before you and I were ever… good," he waved away the past like it was nothing. Bonnie's face tightened somewhat, but she remained silent. "If you knew me like this, now, before everyone else. Would you have chosen me over Stefan?"

He was babbling, hardly making any sense. Bonnie whet her lips and opened her mouth to speak, but Damon talked over her now, unable to stop the flow of words coming out of his mouth like vomit.

"Because  _God_ , Bonnie. I just want to be someone's first choice, just once. I know," Damon gave a bitter laugh, so harsh that Bonnie flinched, "I know that I don't deserve it. I never deserved that bitch Katherine. I sure as hell didn't deserve Elena. And, oh god Bonnie—" his eyes widened and a look of dawning horror crept into his increasingly anguished features, "—I don't deserve you. I never did. Who was I kidding?" He paused to take another long swig of the bourbon bottle swishing in his hand. "You, me, friends? No. I fucked that up long before we ever had a shot. You don't need someone like me in your life."

Bonnie shook her head emphatically, eyeing the drunken vampire before her in equal parts concern and apprehension.

"Damon," she held up her hands before her to calm him, "Damon, you're scaring me."

"But that's all I do, isn't it? Scare people. Hurt people. But you—you're so, so," he searched for the word, drunkenly swaying, " _good_! Good little Saint Bonnie Bennett the teenage super-witch, saving the world and shooting rainbows out of her ass and generally making my life miserable and... and..." he glowered at her for a moment before his shoulder slumped. "... and also kind of amazing. I never deserved you."

"That's not true, Damon," Bonnie answered forcefully, taking a step closer to him and staring straight into his eyes. "You've changed so much. I believe in you. You need to start believing in yourself.

"Everyone keeps  _saying_  that!" Damon shouted. Bonnie flinched back and Damon frowned before saying in a calmer voice, "You still haven't answered my question. Why won't  _anyone_ tell it to my face? Would. You. Choose. Me?"

"Yes," Bonnie said slowly, searching his face. Her eyes shone brightly, and she swallowed upon meeting his gaze but didn't look away. "Now give me that bottle, Damon." She held out her hand patiently.

"Don't say things you don't mean, Bonnie," Damon slurred, jerking the alcohol out of her reach. More bourbon spilled out of the bottle and splashed along the tiled floor.

"Damon," Bonnie sighed, turning towards the sink.

"But _I_ would choose  _you_ ," Damon snarled hotly. "And that," he sneered, "is why my life is such a fucking tragedy."

Bonnie froze, mouth parting, not daring to draw breath. Her eyes fluttered closed and she shook her head, biting her lip painfully. "Damon," she exhaled, gathering up her courage to turn and face him.

She felt his hands at her back and though she knew what was probably about to happen, she let herself be turned, turned until her body twisted into his. And, pinned to the sink by the insistent pressure of his hands, Bonnie allowed her eyes to fall open long enough to appreciate the moonlit beauty of Damon Salvatore's face, illuminated by the beams of silver light streaming in from the kitchen window. He was beautiful, even in his drunken fits of emotional fracture, and that was the last complete thought she had before he lifted a hand slowly, wonderingly, to hover over her mouth.

Damon pressed the pad of his thumb there for a moment, tracing the soft contours of her lips with such a look of concentration on his face that Bonnie wondered faintly if he were memorizing this moment, etching an effigy of her lips into the imprint of his mind, where so many of his memories must have been grafted like ink to paper. Her lips parted and he moved to cup her cheek roughly in his palm, tilting her chin upwards to face him. A flicker of worry crossed his face, and for a heart-stuttering moment he hesitated, his conscience at war with his body.

And then slowly, with the same look of aggressive wonderment and disquiet, Damon Salvatore leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.

He didn't know what he was expecting, in all honesty. A part of him wanted Bonnie to reach up and smack him, or stiffen and move away, or at the very least drop him with a brain aneurysm.  _That_  was the Bonnie he knew, the familiar and constant person in his life who didn't waste time to put up with his bullshit. So it was with a jolt of sobering, giddying shock that Damon felt her respond to his touch after only a moment's hesitation, a soft mewling sound buzzing against his lips as she reached up to grip his shirt tightly in her hands.

Suddenly Damon didn't need to think anymore. Instinct guided him. He just  _felt_ —felt himself easily lift Bonnie up with one arm and settle her against his waist, felt her wrap her legs around him and as she settled her hands over his shoulders. Felt her moan into his kiss as he backed them into the island countertop, felt the cold of the granite as he set her down upon it and placed his palms flat on either side of her undulating hips. He felt the way he rocked instinctively against her, mouth roving, hands sliding up and down and over her body. It was with a certain rush of giddiness that he realized that she felt so, so much better than he had ever imagined. And oh, he had imagined it, as any red-blooded male of the species had undoubtedly imagined when it came to such a walking contradiction as Bonnie Bennett: pure, righteous, and somehow so tempting in her naïveté… and Damon loved to corrupt everything he touched.

She sighed into his touch, skin flushing against the roughness of his hands as he pushed her down, bent her back over the counter until she lay flat, chest heaving against his as he drank up her breaths, one by one, with his lips. He felt her hands curl against his as he brought her shirt up over her head, felt her gasp at the cool friction of the countertop against the heat of her spine as he dipped her back again, licking his way down her throat, down, down, pausing to place a light kiss between the swells of her breasts. He let out a surprised grunt when he felt her hands tugging at his belt, fumbling to find the clasp.

Suddenly, awareness hit him like a bucket of ice water. The line he was about to cross with her... he couldn't go back from something like that. Groaning at the sudden reappearance of his conscience, his hands slid down her arms to gently encircle her wrists and pry her from her increasingly bold administrations.

Tugging her lip after him, he pulled away from her mouth long enough to say in between kisses, "We really," another kiss, "we shouldn't," he collided with her lips again, "you don't want to—" she cut him off with her mouth and suddenly he couldn't remember what he was talking about in the first place.

Bonnie took his face in her hands and drew back to stare him right in the eyes. All he could see was the cherry red pucker of her lips, thoroughly swollen from his attentions.

"Yes," she enunciated clearly, with enough ferocious, wanton intensity in her heated gaze that Damon swore he could hear all the blood in his body draining southwards. That would explain the dizziness he felt as he swayed before her, wanting to do such graphic things to her that it almost shamed him, how much he shuddered with want for her.

Damon didn't have a contingency plan for this. Sleeping with Bonnie Bennett was... taboo. Prohibited. Forbidden fruit.

… not that that ever stopped him before.

Wordlessly, as if sensing his internal monologue were over long before it began, Bonnie started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Shit," Damon swore passionately. And then his mouth descended upon hers and he was hopelessly, utterly lost in her.


	11. Talking Without Speaking, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2/2. Kol and Damon strike a deal as Damon remembers everything he's lost.

It was not quite death that was shed from the vampire's limbs as he awoke; his chest expanded instead with the deep, bracing gasp of one waking from an unexpected slumber, that which lasted much longer than anticipated. His skin bloomed so red with sudden circulation that the flesh of his neck and chest would have appeared sunburnt, had the lighting allowed it to be seen; as it were, the vampire's cheeks and lips were rosy enough even under the taciturn glow of the moon to resemble the youthful vitality that his body had not housed in a millennium.

With a spasmic flutter of his lashes and a shudder, Kol Mikaelson sat bolt upright, heart pumping lifeblood and adrenaline furiously through his chest.

It took the Original a few moments of bewildered confusion to gather his wits. He was cold; that was the first thing he noticed. He looked down and realized with a detached sort of  _aha_  moment that—of course he'd be freezing—he was naked, his modesty protected by a worn leather jacket and a somewhat generous layer of dirt and ash.

 _Ash_.

He couldn't help the start he gave as he jerked his head around, taking in the rubble and ruin and, in particular, the stench that clogged the air like mustard gas: the piquant aroma of burnt wood and the underlying reek of dead body, charred to a crisp.  _His_  stench?

Touching his neck thoughtfully, Kol frowned as he attempted to recall what had happened. The mansion was destroyed, and it was pitch black outside as the tremulous light of the moon once again ducked behind a sliver of cloud. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed between that evening and now. His memory cut out on him quite clearly: one moment, he was rushing towards the shadowy  _thing_  that had broken into their mansion. The next… Kol swallowed audibly, rubbing his palm along his Adam's apple with a wince. Beheading by monster was edging out last place on his list of Fun Ways to Die.

Flexing his fingers, which still tingled painfully, and raking them through his thick hair, Kol let out a low, disbelieving chuckle. Whatever he had survived, it never ceased to amaze him, what it meant to be an Original. Not for the first time was he grateful that anything short of death by white oak dagger would rip him from this earth. With a deep breath, he placed both hands flat on the uneven ground and prepared to stand.

A sudden motion in the darkness to his left made him let out a startled sound, recoiling.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," a voice said, and Kol recoiled at the sudden light of a cell phone being illuminated in the darkness, so bright that it seared into his vision like a flash bomb. Throwing up a hand, Kol peeked through his fingers, disbelieving at the sight he was met with.

Damon Salvatore.

_Of fucking course._

He must have spoken out loud because Damon barked out a harsh laugh before squatting down to Kol's level. Kol noticed that the elder Salvatore was wearing just a tee shirt, despite the cold tang of the northern air. That explained the coat preserving his modesty. How very thoughtful of the Salvatore boy.

"Who did you expect?" Damon pasted a wide grin that stopped just short of his eyes, which glittered the bright, simmering blue of the most dangerous part of a flame. Kol's annoyance flared.

Leaning back on his elbows and crossing his leg at the knee as if he didn't have it all hanging out for the world to see, Kol matched Damon precisely in tone and facial expression. "I suppose I have  _you_  to thank for reviving me, eh, mate? I didn't realize we had left on such good terms. Had I known, we could have exchanged Christmas cards," Kol smirked, contradicting the innocent sincerity in his tone.

Damon closed his eyes, resisting the urge to roll them for fear he'd never stop. Instead, he squatted down on his haunches, getting into Kol's personal space. "Can't say I missed your  _captivating_  charm and wit," he muttered to himself, before deciding to cut to the chase. Time was running out, and Damon no longer had the luxury for beating around the bush. "We need to talk, Kol. About Bonnie Bennett. I know you were with her," he said with a barely discernible tick in his jawline, "and I want to know where she is  **now**."

At the sound of Bonnie's name, Kol's eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. His fingers worked into the soil beneath his palms, grinding dead leaves and destroyed brickwork alike into dust. "And here I thought it was because you enjoyed our witty repartees. How did you know that it would work, Salvatore? Reviving me with—wild guess here—your blood?"

Damon smiled tightly, drumming agitated fingers across his knee. "Last ditch Hail Mary," he said through gritted teeth. "Now answer the question."

Kol's impish smile was back on his face, and Damon was close,  _so close_  to reaching over and wiping it off the Original's face with his fist. Anxiety and impatience began to churn in his stomach like acid.

"What is the Bennett witch to you anyway?  _Why_  are you so bloody intent on getting to this girl?" Kol asked wonderingly, shaking his head and staring at Damon with a cool mixture of bafflement and something like pity, if the Original were capable of such an emotion.

Damon looked out at the smattering of constellations slowly wheeling in the blackness of the sky overhead. His voice was low, but Kol caught every word.

"I owe her an apology."

* * *

_**THREE YEARS AGO** _

She looked like a wood nymph, with her curly dark hair framing her face and shoulders, face upturned, and those sinful, canted lips parted in a slight smile. Her emerald eyes shimmered as water cascaded down her back, rivulets dipping into the curves of her honeyed skin in a way he only wished he could. Instead, Damon settled for licking a pathway up her shuddering, tight abdomen, eyeing the dark curls at the apex of her thighs with a predatory intent that immediately sent heat pooling low in her belly like a heady aphrodisiac. Steam curled around them, pressing smoky fingers to their glistening skin and fogging the glass that his hands splayed across as he propped her up against him.

Bonnie looked down at him with lidded eyes, biting her lip and eyeing him with such a demure sense of frightened sweetness, as if she were afraid that at any moment he would tire of worshipping her body. It was that innocent look that drove him over the edge, made him want to bask in it as he worked her body past the point of exhaustion, and then some—Elena could always do the doe-eyed innocent act, but that's all it was with her. With Bonnie, there was something so pure, so inexperienced about her that it contrasted directly with her undeniably raw beauty. She was sexy as hell standing under that spray, but the best part was she had no fucking clue.

And Damon couldn't help but find her gorgeous because of it.

Plus—Damon groaned as she sank to her knees and swept a hand along his hipbone—she was an unbelievably fast learner.

Their bodies molded to each other and he sank against her, humming with satisfaction as her breasts brushed flush against his chest. Her leg locked around his hip, drawing him even closer to her and he dropped his mouth down, smiling into her neck before reaching up to capture her breasts in his hands, kneading and teasing until she arched into him, grabbing for his hair at the nape. Bonnie Bennett was rough, Damon was quickly learning. Her bite marks puckered the flesh of his shoulders and neck before it healed; her fingernails raked up and down the fair skin of his torso and back like a checkerboard before they faded. And she absolutely  _loved_  to grab his hair.

Damon decided to return the favor, threading her sopping dark curls through his fingers and tugging back until her neck was exposed. She let out a contented sigh, eyes falling closed once more; her palm had found the flat of his chest and she held it there, right over his heart, drumming her fingers along the smooth, pale skin of his torso.

He felt it before he realized what she was doing, and even when her fingers jerked and splayed rigidly over his chest, her short, blunt fingernails digging slightly into his skin, he didn't put two and two together. The swooping, building sensation went from a trickle to a tidal wave and suddenly, he was gasping, muscles going rigid and lips snagging against the sharp of his teeth as he let out an incoherent shout of pure, broken ecstasy. His knees very near gave out from under him and his grip on her slipped slightly, hips jerking against her in a delicious friction that made her bite her lip and turn away, shuddering as she concentrated on him, on his body between her thighs, on the magic coursing through her veins like fire.

A sudden flash of pain numbed Damon's hand and he was momentarily loosed from the throes of her spell, a jarring sensation that left him immediately bereft. Blood dripped from his knuckles to swirl with the water below before disappearing down the drain. Blinking the steaming spray out of his eyes, Damon realized with a dull shock what he had done.

He had inadvertently punched a hole into the tiling of her bathroom shower.

Jesus. At this rate, he might just bring down the roof around them.

An unexpected laugh stumbled past his lips and he caught Bonnie's expression, a look of amused disbelief and primal frustration. Raising an eyebrow as if considering his punishment, she drew a finger lightly across his pectorals with a look of concentration. Damon shivered, feeling the crackling of electricity that followed her touch, immediately followed by a throbbing ache of arousal that nearly rolled his eyes back into his head.

"Using magic… is not fair," he managed through gritted teeth, and in response she only increased the magic flowing between them. Damon shut his eyes tightly and shivered, cock growing thick against his belly as he pressed closer to the steaming heat of her skin.

"Enough." Reaching up, Damon grabbed her chin, forcing Bonnie to look him. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed his cock inside of her slick walls, unblinking as he gazed into her eyes. Bonnie let out a small whimper but did not look away, instead defiantly undulating against him, taking him deeper inside her and adjusting to his girth with some difficulty. He rocked in and out of her with maddening leisure, making Bonnie impatiently squirm against him. Tugging at his nape once more, she crashed her lips into his and bit down on his lower lip. Her fingers, like talons, pressed down over his heart and she let a shock of magic course through him at a sharp, high voltage.

At her touch, Damon lost all sense of holding back. Breathing harshly, he reared back, bringing his cock to the entrance of her cunt before slamming deep inside her bruising force, making her cry out and clutch at his shoulders, nails biting deep enough to draw blood. He tangled his hands in her hair and yanked back violently, forcing her to bend into him, away from him, as he reached fucking tempo—hard, fast, flesh-slapping-flesh _fucking_  as he focused on burying himself to the hilt in the slickness of her. His hand snaked between them to toy with her clit, swirling around the bud with his thumb and forefinger at an almost languid pace compared to the furious pounding between her thighs.

He didn't realize that he was cursing—a disjointed, confused, jumbled stream of curses dropping from his tongue like the prayers of a madman, interspersed with her name and growls that sounded more animal than human, even for him. Then, Bonnie tightened around him, thrashing as she climaxed. Damon came in long, hot spurts, thrusting a few two more times into her contracting heat before leaning against her in satisfied exhaustion.

They stood there for a while under the spray of the shower, pulses slowly easing back to normal.

* * *

Kol was nonplussed by Damon's sense of urgency. For the past ten minutes, it had been a verbal game of tennis, back and forth conversation that gave away nothing of what the other was thinking or intending.

Somehow, in the span of their exchange, the power dynamic had shifted. Despite Kol having been dead as a doornail only minutes ago, he seemed in such complete and utter command of himself and the situation, notwithstanding his undignified position sprawled across the forest floor. A muscle ticked in Damon's jawline and he crossed his arms, bearing down on the Original, who seemed to take no more notice of him than one might an annoying fly buzzing in his vicinity.

"You don't seem to get it, Salvatore," Kol shook his head, calmly enough to put Damon immediately on edge. "You need me more than I'll ever need you. But, as it were—" the Original heaved a dramatic, put-upon sigh, "—our interests are aligned, of late. It would suit both our purposes well, I think, if we worked together."

Damon blinked, not sure he heard Kol correctly. He said as much, adding, "You're… not serious, are you?" His expression alone conveyed the disgust that his tone could not quite muster.

"As the plague," Kol said, curling his lip in a sneer. "If it were up to me, I would find the witch on my own. But, as the case stands…" The Original closed his eyes for a moment, as if already regretting the decision he had come to. "I owe you my life. Unfortunately. Which means that, in the honorable spirit of my dear estranged brother Elijah, I must give you something in return," he nodded his head solemnly, sandy hair waving in the slight breeze as he spoke.

"Not your virginity, I hope," Damon muttered under his breath.

Kol's smirk looked sharp enough to cut glass. "Don't take this the wrong way, love," he retorted smoothly, "but I'm saving myself for someone special."

Damon's nostrils flared. "How can I trust you? How do I know you'll keep your word?"

Kol tilted his head, eyes almost black in the darkness. A flash of white showed that he was still smiling as widely as he dared. "You don't, but you must. I get the impression that you are just as desperate as I to get to the Bennett witch, even if for different reasons. Help me, and I'll take you to her."

The wisp of cloud gave way to shivery silver moonlight, which cast itself eagerly over the dips and planes of Damon's ivory skin as he stared coldly down at the Original. His teeth clicked together as his mind raced, weighing the pros and cons. The cons settled heavy in his chest, but heavier still was the duty he had tasked himself with. There was no alternative. Kol knew more things that Damon ever could. He would need to use the other vampire in order to get to Bonnie, come what may.

Squeezing his eyes tightly closed as if he could wish the Original away by sheer force of thought, Damon growled, "Help you do  _what_ , exactly?"

* * *

_**THREE YEARS AGO** _

Somehow a drunken pity party for one had turned into one of the most incredible, sexiest,  _bendiest_  nights Damon Salvatore had experienced in recent memory.

But the night was no longer young and the smile had long ago slid off his face, a mere memory, just like the others so vividly imprinted in his mind's eye as he listened to the soft, rhythmic breathing of the warm body settled beside him.

It was only until after Bonnie had fallen asleep that the beginnings of worry had started to settle inside Damon, like a nagging grain of sand pearling away inside the membrane of his thoughts. Before, they had had a very clear red line that defined the boundaries of his relationship with her. Now, completely sober, the fact that he had not only crossed the line but demolished it, roiled around inside him, churning his stomach with anxiety. Dread of the conversation they would inevitably have in the morning was no balm to his unsettled state.

The fact remained: she was too good for him. The sinking feeling returned as he realized just how bad he was for her. He had  _slept_  with her for Christssakes… and somehow it had felt so natural for him to do so that he hadn't even stopped to think about what impact it would have on Bonnie's life. He shouldn't have taken advantage of her like that, and his newly developed conscience was enough for him to realize it when mere months ago he wouldn't have given it a second thought. For so long, he had known nothing but Elena. And, Damon realized with a mounting sense of alarm, he had no idea how to deal with someone like Bonnie.

He did  _not_  deserve her.

Needless to say, Damon was having yet another one of his sleepless nights.

Damon bent down and pressed his lips to Bonnie's forehead, smoothing a hand over her hair with such gentleness that it surprised even him. He watched her chest rise and fall for a few more moments before he sat up completely, stretched his arms upwards with a sigh, and then swung his legs out of her bed. Completely and unabashedly naked, Damon swept lightly over the slightly creaking floorboards of Bonnie's bedroom, pausing here and there to take in pieces of her that had accumulated in the room over the years. Pale, yellowing lamplight from the streets outside clung to his ankles as he passed by the window, stirring the limply hanging curtains framing the view to the world outside.

Treading lightly towards her bathroom (a new favorite place of his, thanks to the events of the past evening), Damon squatted down and rifled through the pile of clothing they had discarded so carelessly before stepping into the shower together. Finally, he found his cell phone in his jeans pocket. Turning it back on, Damon ducked into the bathroom and shut the door quietly behind him.

Immediately upon powering on, his phone buzzed in rapid succession. Twelve missed messages. Six voicemails. Damon's eyebrows skyrocketed, mouthing wordlessly at the sudden influx of attention. Thumbing through the missed call log, he realized that most of the calls had come from…

"Elena." The name fell sluggish from his tongue, as if muscle memory were not enough to remember saying a name he had avoided thinking about for so long.

Bewildered, Damon chose the only voicemail that had come from a separate number: Stefan, of all people. Pressing play, he waited, almost apprehensively.

Almost immediately, Damon had to grin. Stefan's voice was slurry as hell—the exact state that Damon had been in mere hours ago. It had been decades since Damon had been witness to such a state of debauchery coming from Stefan.

" _Hiiii Damon_ ," Stefan singsonged. _"I... I guess I just wanted to talk to my big brother. I needed your advice... you seemed like the only person who would understand where I'm—uh—coming from_." Stefan cleared his throat and in the background there was the quiet tinkling of glass on glass as the younger Salvatore presumably poured himself another shot.

" _Stupid_ ," Stefan muttered to himself. " _Anyway, if you get this message, just ignore it or something. I am... druuunnkk_ ," the way he drew out the word made it seem like it had eight u's and n's apiece, " _right now and well... yeah. Embarrassing myself seems to be the theme tonight. Feel free to save this voicemail and use it to blackmail me tomorrow. Probably deserve it._ "

Stefan let out a self-deprecating chuckle. " _Y'know, I don't even remember why I called in the first—shit_!"

Damon couldn't help the snort of laughter as a thudding noise came from the other end of the line and the call disconnected. Wasted Stefan was a clumsy Stefan—he probably dropped the phone in an effort to grab a new decanter of whiskey from the top shelf in their breakfront—the exact whiskey Damon had placed there because he knew Stefan had trouble reaching it. Damon rolled his eyes and an amused smile settled on his face as he saved the message, then thumbed through his missed calls to select the next voicemail. Noting the timestamp, Damon realized was left on his phone ten minutes after Stefan's drunk call.

He hesitated a moment before selecting the message. Elena's breathy voice filled his ear and he closed his eyes, a pang of an emotion he did not know the name for making him sway under its power.

" _Damon_ ," she said.

Instantly, he could tell that Elena was drunk. Jesus, is everyone in Mystic Falls hitting the booze tonight? Damon decided he already knew the answer to that question. With a sinking feeling, Damon listened to the rest of the message as he peered out into Bonnie's bedroom, watching her peacefully sleep and listening to the calm, steady beat of her heart. Then he turned and shut the door to the bathroom behind him, sitting on the lid of the toilet and running a hand roughly through his hair.

" _Damon, I need to talk to you_ ," Elena said, and the quiet hitch in her voice allowed Damon to predict right down to the last shot exactly how much alcohol she had drunk at the time of that call. " _Please, call_ —"

Damon pressed the down button and selected the next voicemail.

" _Damon_ ," Elena's plaintive voice was pitiful. He found himself frowning in response as he listened to her breathe on the other line for a moment before continuing, " _Damon, I need you to answer your phone. I need to talk to you. You're the only person who I can talk to right now_."

Well. The second person of the night to express those sentiments. Damon smiled wryly at the illuminated phone face and selected the third voice message before he could help himself.

It was like listening to a train wreck in progression. By the fifth voicemail, Elena was completely four sheets to the wind, words tangling with her tongue in a way that he used to find adorable but now he just found grating. And the problem was, he wasn't entirely sure how much of that sentiment was because of her rejection... or because of what he had done with Bonnie.

Grimacing, Damon highlighted the last and most recent voicemail from Elena and pressed play. This time, Elena seemed to have calmed down a bit. However, the sorrow that laced through every syllable was heartbreaking to listen to. If he closed his eyes, he could picture her face, miserable and hurting. He couldn't help it- a little part of him ached with her. After all that had happened between them, it wasn't something he could just will away.

" _Damon_ ," she whispered, and her voice was tear-filled, " _He doesn't want me. I went to him and he didn't want me. You're the only one who's ever—who's always—Damon. I can't be alone tonight_."

Damon gritted his teeth, both anticipating and dreading the words that followed with bated breath.

" _I need you, Damon_."

It was like a siren's call, a waking dream in which he knew exactly what was going on but was helpless to control his actions. Slowly, he opened the door to Bonnie's bathroom. Slowly, he shrugged into his pants and jacket. Slowly,  _slowly_ , he made his way to Bonnie's bed, standing over her and just… watching.

Her lashes fluttered, brushing her high cheekbones like downy black feathers as her brow furrowed. Bonnie let out a small, unintelligible sound of discontentment, struggling with an unpleasant dream. Hesitating for a moment, Damon bent down and passed cool fingers down the side of her face, eyes falling closed as he sent her a good dream, a dream in which she didn't have to be afraid.

He never deserved her. He was weak. He would hurt her.

And he was  _terrified_  of her.

As the door to Bonnie's house swung shut behind him and the silence of the neighborhood surrounding crept in on him from behind, Damon steeled himself, curling his fingers tightly into fists and eyeing the skies above with a dark gaze he had not the strength to turn inwards.

Somehow, someday, he was going to make a decision that he didn't regret.

Tonight was not that night.


	12. Hearing Without Listening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pieces are in play; all the Woman has to do now is wait. Bonnie wakes, and is informed of what happened the night of the attack.

The man's blood was still warm as it gushed into the glass bowl she held beneath his severed carotid. His heart pumped feebly and his fingers twitched as if he wanted to place them around the gaping wound in his neck, but otherwise the man did not struggle as he slowly bled out on the apartment floor. Several spurts missed the bowl completely, painting her wrist and fingers a bright Technicolor coquelicot that seemed too vivid to be real.

Without hesitation, Katherine switched hands and brought the drenched wrist to her lips, laving her tongue over the man's blood. "Waste not," she commented sardonically, licking her lips before drawing them back into a wicked smile, blood smearing across her pointed fangs.

The man's head lolled to the side as he lost consciousness. Sighing and rolling her eyes, Katherine observed the bowl in her hands. Judging that it was filled enough for her task, she stood up fluidly and stepped over the man, gingerly avoiding the pool of blood quickly spreading around his head and soaking into the dusty shag carpet covering floor.

Placing the bowl carefully on a table by the far wall of the room, Katherine smoothed her palms over the black velvet cloth covering the tabletop before reaching over and grabbing a box of matches. Striking one, she lit two ivory taper candles standing on either side of the bowl of blood. Shaking the match out, she opened her mouth to begin her chant.

Suddenly, the latch of the door behind her scraped and clicked softly open. Creaking slightly on its hinges, the door swung open and a shadowed figure stepped into the muted light of the one-room flat.

Matt Donovan, struggling with two stacked cooler cases in his arms, stepped into the room and kicked the door shut behind him with a nimble flick of his heel.

"Where did you want me to put—" Matt's eyes widened and his face paled as he stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the dead body slowly stiffening in the middle of the room.

Katherine raised an eyebrow and tossed her glossy curls over her shoulder, eyeing the young man through her lashes with predacious scrutiny. Matt flushed and frowned angrily, shifting the containers in his hands and looking back down at the man who had obviously bled out only moments ago. He couldn't help it—even after all these years cleaning up after his friends' messes, seeing more dead bodies in the past few years than most people had the misfortune to see in an entire lifetime—Matt still felt the shock, revulsion, and nausea roiling around in his gut every time he laid eyes on a corpse. He wished he could be numb to it, or at the very least, get used to it; but, he supposed, that was what made him different from his friends, all braver than he in the end. He was only human, and he felt the pain every time he saw that this town had claimed the life of another.

Only this time, he couldn't help but feel personally responsible. He did, after all, make a deal with the devil.

Oblivious to Matt's internal dialogue, Katherine shrugged at long last. "I needed to make a call," she said by way of explanation, cocking her head to the side and sweeping her gaze up Matt's body with a predatory gleam. Her cherry lips pouted as she pursed them, musing. "You should wear tight shirts like that more often. I swear, I could just—" She broke off and smiled at him, all teeth, shaking her head wistfully.

Matt swallowed hard. "I did what you asked. I got you your blood bags. Now, where do you want me to put them?"

Katherine nodded her chin towards the couch by the window. "Just put them down wherever." She began rolling up her sleeves.

Matt did as she commanded, walking stiff-backed to the sofa and unloading the coolers onto the cushions with a grimace. Straightening and turning, he took a glance at the altar Katherine had prepared, taking in the lit candles and the large glass bowl of blood sitting in the middle of the table. He blanched.

"You had to 'make a call'? You couldn't just use a cell phone?" He asked faintly.

Katherine's smile seemed wrong somehow, stretching a little too wide for her face. "Not that kind of call, Matt," she replied patiently, toying with an errant curl that tumbled across her face. "Now please, hush. I need to concentrate."

Matt eyed the black tablecloth and the ritualistic way in which the man had been killed. He knew what it looked like, but… "Casting spells? I thought only witches could do that," Matt mused, a perplexed look causing his face to grow somber.

"Oh, Matt," Katherine sighed regretfully and shook her head. "You are so  _hot_  when you try to think." She reached over and patted his shoulder. He shivered and stepped away from her. Katherine frowned. "For your information, this isn't witchcraft. This is something else. Now, leave your cute nose out of other people's business before you get it snipped off." She made a scissoring motion with her fingers and winked at him before turning back to the altar.

Relieved, Matt picked his way carefully over the dead body towards the door. His hand was outstretched for the handle when Katherine's let out a low, chuckling sound of amusement.

"Forgetting something, are we?"

Matt's eyes closed and he winced. He had hoped that, in her haste to do whatever insidious deed she had been in the midst of when he arrived, she would have forgotten about the _other_  thing. Unfortunately his passive attempts at espionage had not gone unnoticed. Slowly, with every muscle and bone in his body creaking in protest, Matt turned one degree at a time to face his tormenter.

Katherine arched a perfectly plucked brow and focused a stern gaze on Matt. "Did you get the information I asked for?"

The corners of Matt's mouth tightened and a muscle ticked in his jawline, but he didn't say anything.

Katherine clucked. "Don't be  _stupid_ , Matt. Give me what I told you to find me. You  _do_  have it, I presume? And, do yourself a favor— _don't_  lie. You're a terrible liar, even for a human."

Matt swallowed audibly, then nodded a fraction. Katherine's face lost some of its severity, and she even managed a small smile as his reward.

"Good. Now," she took a step towards him and held out a slender, pale hand.

Matt backed away from her, shaking his head. "No." Was that his tone, all pitiful and pleading? However he heard himself, it strengthened his resolve. " _ **No**_." Matt said again, more forcefully this time.

Katherine stopped mid-stride and looked at him in disbelief.

"Oh, Matt, sweet, innocent Matt. Need I remind you whose thumb you are currently under?" Katherine purred behind her impeccable smile. Veins traced delicately across her eyelids and her eyes reddened near to black. Matt took an involuntary step backwards, resisting the urge to make a break for the door.

"We have a deal, remember? You work for  _me_ ," she pointed a finger at her chest, fangs audibly clicking against each other as she spoke, "and in return, I don't pop Caroline and Elena's heads off their necks like Barbie dolls." She snapped her fingers and Matt flinched.

Somehow, he found it in him to be defiant. His lip curled as he took a halting step closer to her, despite all instincts screaming to do otherwise. "Oh yeah? Two against one, Katherine. I think they can take you."

Katherine sucked at her teeth and shook her head. "'Hmmm, maybe. But not before I massacre my way through every person living in Mystic Falls and make coats out of their bloody skins."

Matt's heart skipped a beat in his chest.

The vampire chewed her lower lip with facetious deliberation "Want to know what  _I_ think?  _ **I**_  think… I will kill every.  _Last_.  _ **One.**_  in Mystic Falls... Until you, dopple-bitch Elena, and your precious, bubbly little Caroline are the only ones left."

Katherine examined her nails, lacquered a dark burgundy, filed into razor-sharp points. "And then I will slowly,  _exquisitely_  extract every last ounce of life from them until they embrace death with open arms. I will  _ **flay**_  them in their skin while you are forced to watch. But, I'll be sure to leave them with  _just enough_  breath left in their lungs for them to call out your name before they die. You will never,  _ever_  forget their last moments. You will  _never_  forget failing them." Her wicked gaze flicked upwards to relish Matt's horrified expression. "And maybe, just maybe, you'll beg me to kill you too." She gave him an appraising look, smile sliding off of her face in a heartbeat. "I haven't decided yet what my answer will be."

Matt's hands shook as, wordlessly, he slid a hand into the back of his jeans pocket and withdrew a folded, slightly crumped piece of paper. Opening it and smoothing it out on his palm, he held it out for Katherine to take.

"Good boy," Katherine smiled witheringly around her words, bobbing her head and turning to walk back towards the altar. Waving her hand carelessly behind her, she gestured towards the door.

"You can let yourself out."

* * *

The air was different here.

That was the first thing she noticed, even before opening her eyes. It was the smell, she supposed; musty, balmy, even—with a hint of closeness that wasn't necessarily unpleasant but was altogether unfamiliar to her in every respect. She lay there for a few moments, breathing in deeply the scents about her, wishing with every cell of her being that she could be transported back, praying that this was the dream and that Jeremy was what was real, together with her in that mesmerizing field of poppies. Bonnie couldn't even bring herself to feel sad; thinking about his face, his shining eyes and warm smile that made her cheeks flush and heart thud against her ribs like they were in high school again... it all just made her numb.

Suddenly, a slight warmth fanned over her as Stefan's voice filled her ear, making her skin ripple with goosebumps.

"I know you're awake, Bonnie."

Bonnie started and sat bolt upright, gasping and scrambling across the table, away from Stefan's presence. Stefan bent backwards, a maliciously pleased smile rolling around his lips before his expression shuttered once more into neutrality. His face was a bit paler than usual, or maybe that was her imagination—the periwinkle dawn light strewn faintly across the room lent it a somewhat surreal blue glow. Scowling at Stefan and rubbing the back of her aching neck with a slightly trembling hand, Bonnie slowly took in her surroundings.

The room they were in was nothing like the mansion from which they had come. More a cottage than estate, what the lodgings lacked in space, it made up for in expensive, tasteful décor. Bonnie licked her dry, cracked lips, gaze darting around the room and taking in the wide windows that stretched from whitewashed, low-beamed ceiling to worn, bleached wooden floor. Her palms slid across the table supporting her weight, the wood worn down with use until it was as smooth and pleasant to the touch as sea glass. Someone had taken the care to place a large down pillow beneath her, accompanied by a luxuriant wool blanket which was currently tangled about her waist and legs.

Ripping the blanket off and tossing it carelessly to the floor, Bonnie swung her legs over the side of the table, bare feet dangling over the edge. Looking down, Bonnie took in the white, flowy blouse and the knit grey pants she was wearing. They were most definitely  _not_  her own clothes—she never would have chosen them for herself… and she most certainly had not been the one to change into them. Her eyes darted up to take in the younger Salvatore with an accusatory glance. Stefan was standing calmly by the window, arms folded, watching her with his glittering slate eyes with a touch of caution, as if not quite anticipating what her next action would be.

A creak in the doorway announced a second presence. Bonnie's head jerked around, which she immediately regretted when her vision began to swim. Groaning, she hunched over, hands gripping the edge of the table slightly.

"Easy, now. Don't want to overexert yourself." Klaus' voice was honeyed smooth, and it was with a wayward sort of comfort that it rolled over her in waves, dulling her nausea somewhat. She resented its effect on her with fervor.

"I saw—" She hesitated, shaking her head as it throbbed painfully with the effort to form coherent thought. "I watched you die." Bonnie swallowed down the bile that was rising in her throat at the memory and closed her eyes tightly, breathing sharp pulls of air through her nose.

Klaus swept into the small room and made his way over to her table. The hushed light of the dawn filtered through the window curved into his cheeks and sank down his collarbones with molten light, softening his features into the likeness of a painting. From her vantage, he could have almost been human. That did not stop the spike of fear that rose within her as he neared to where she was sitting.

Bonnie's eyes darted rapidly between the two vampires, unsure which one she should focus her wary attention on more. Her fingers interlaced behind her back and she squeezed them together tightly, focusing on the stinging pain that coursed through her knuckles rather than giving into her mounting alarm.

"How—" her voice was hoarse, too hoarse for her liking; it was as if she had screamed her throat bloody quite recently. Licking her lips and clearing her throat, she made a second attempt. Her question was simple. "What happened?"

Unsurprisingly, it was Klaus who spoke first, while Stefan seemed content with just staring at her unnervingly. "After the attack at the mansion… we were forced to change our plans a bit. We needed to relocate." He swept an arm about him. "One of my many homes cloistered about the world. You will be safe here. You can relax."

Bonnie gritted her teeth. "That's what Kol said before, and look how that turned out."

At the mention of Kol's name, Klaus' eyes hardened. Stepping closer to her, he dragged a small armchair with him to seat himself in front of her.

However, it was Stefan who began to speak. "We were ambushed." There was something in the way he said it that indicated that he had anticipated more than he let on. "Klaus was out looking for—" A sharp look from Klaus made Stefan quickly change tack. "I was in the kitchen when I heard your screams."

"I had just returned from a very important voyage. One that was spent acquiring a very important artifact," Klaus continued, watching Bonnie carefully. When she did not raise any questions, he continued, seemingly relieved. "However, I was not alone upon my return. I presume that you are familiar with the creature that attacked us that night?"

Bonnie couldn't help the shudder that ran through her at the memory of the faceless, rotting shadow creature. "Yes," she acknowledged, barely above a whisper.

"That creature, the one that nearly tore my heart from my chest cavity," Klaus rubbed his sternum with his fingers, "is called a wight."

Bonnie's brow furrowed. "Sorry?"

Klaus nodded, as if her confusion confirmed something he had suspected. "A wight is a mindless, unkillable creature that is not of this world; hence, they are unable to be  _killed_  by anything of this world. They thrive in shadow, which gives them strength. Light energy, if strong and pure in its source…"

"Like fire," Stefan interjected, before lapsing into silence again.

"Yes, such as fire," Klaus nodded, "these can serve as a means to banish a wight temporarily from our plane. If allowed to their own devices, however, these creatures will feed on a person psychically, driving them mad and leaving them a smoking husk of the person they once were."

"It had already begun to feed upon you when I arrived," Stefan said softly, and Bonnie looked over at him in time to see him turn away. His eyes were ablaze with anger, but not directed towards her, or even Klaus. It was anger, Bonnie realized with a jolt, at none other than himself.

"Indeed," Klaus agreed, eyes sweeping over her clinically, as if checking to see if she was indeed as recuperated as she appeared. "How do you feel?"

Bonnie shook her head mutely for a moment, unable to process. "I feel like I got into a fight with a tractor trailer," she intoned finally, rubbing her still-aching skull. She fixed Klaus with a pointed gaze. "You haven't explained how this 'wight' managed to find you. How exactly did it get into a place that was supposedly so protected by witch magic?" Her eyes narrowed skeptically.

Klaus gestured helplessly. "It must have attached itself to me somehow. It can hide itself quite cleverly if given the chance. In the shadows, particularly—in  _your_  shadow, if you're not careful. I suppose that in my haste to return, I was not careful enough. That must have been how it hitched a ride past the glamour." For his part, Klaus indeed looked distraught for his lapse in vigilance.

Stefan was still facing the window as he spoke. "Without a tether, a wight cannot survive outside its own astral plane for long. It typically grafts itself to a source of power that is most similar to its own. If summoned purposefully, such a source of power would be able to wield a degree of influence over the wight, controlling its actions, if only barely. In our world, the only known entities that can do such a thing are demons."

Bonnie let out a shuddery, disbelieving laugh. "Like the thing—the  _wight_ —in the motel room? You mentioned going after a demon earlier that night, right? They must have been connected to one another." It had all begun to make sense.

Stefan turned, nodding at her solemnly. "It's my belief that this creature was the same one that we had a run-in with that night. Only…" Stefan drummed his fingers on the windowsill as he thought. "I don't understand how it could have gotten that far without its demon."

Bonnie chewed her lip. "How did I—I mean, what happened after the wight attacked? Because I remember Klaus, you—" she gestured to her chest, miming the actions of that night. "And Kol, he… his head…" She paused at Klaus' thunderous expression. "Where is Kol?" She asked hesitantly.

"Dead," Stefan volunteered with narrowed eyes. Though there was no outright enjoyment in his tone, his body language all but screamed it.

Klaus gripped the arms of his chair tightly. "It was Stefan who got us out of harm's way, actually. Why don't you tell the story, Salvatore? I do seem to remember you loved to be the hero once. Why not do it again, for old time's sake?"

Stefan's tone was emotionless. "I heard you screaming," he said plainly, eyes burrowing into Bonnie's. "I came back to the dining room to find the creature on you. You were… you just kept screaming. You did something I've never seen before. You—" Klaus' head jerked to the side and Stefan's nostrils flared, but he changed what he was saying again. Bonnie eyed the two of them askance, mentally taking note of the exchange.

"So, I did the only thing I could think of." He shrugged a shoulder and his gaze slid towards Klaus. "I set the whole damn place on fire. The creature went up in flames and I dragged you and Klaus out behind me before the wight could regenerate. Then Klaus began to heal, and we travelled here as soon as we were able." The last few details were related with such a rote sense of recitation that Bonnie couldn't help but feel that it was rehearsed.

She also couldn't help but feel that she wasn't being told the whole truth.

"The wights won't be able to find us here," Klaus swept a hand over his sandy curls and an ironic smile twisted his lips. "And now that you've taken some time to heal—a full five days, no less— we're ready to continue with the task set to us."

Five days? Bonnie sucked in a sharp breath. She had been unconscious a total of five  _days_? It had felt like mere hours since she had been awake in that living nightmare back at the mansion. This was so surreal. Absently, Bonnie felt herself touch her head, as if checking to make sure her head was screwed on right. "Where is 'here'?" she asked, almost dreading the answer.

Klaus' mouth was tight. After another exchanged glance with Stefan, Klaus smiled even more tightly than before. He gestured towards the window, which was continuing to lighten as the sun rose determinedly. "Welcome to Scotland, Bonnie."

Bonnie let out an incoherent sound of shock. Klaus took advantage of her momentary confusion to press the situation.

"You have seen the lengths to which our enemies will attempt to prevent us from succeeding, Bonnie. I know you know about the Stones. We  **must**  get our hands on them first," Klaus' blue eyes blazed with determination, and no small amount of desperation, "or wights sent by demons will be the  _least_  of our concerns."

"Yes, but…" Bonnie's eyes flicked up to take in the Original and the younger Salvatore in turn. "…who was the one who sent the demons?"

* * *

"I thought you said that you could control them?" Her voice was frosty, but it was difficult to tell for sure because a sudden spike of pain drove between the demon's eyes, as if someone had driven a blade between them. The psychic pain was so potent that it drove the hellspawn to its knees, its breaths coming in heavy, harsh gasps as the pain finally ebbed.

The aftershocks twitched like static through the muscles of the meatsuit the demon wore, and it dropped its head, voice raw as it spoke. "I don't know why they acted how they did," the demon fervently promised, black eyes darting here, there in a skittish manner, looking everywhere but up at the flame-haired woman pacing back and forth across the floor. "It's… something about that girl. Whenever they are around her, it's like they go crazy. They can't help but want to kill her on sight. She is too full of psychic energy!" The last was spoken barely above a whisper, before the demon was forced to pause and cough up a mouthful of blood. The host's rhesus-negative spilled across the stone floor in crimson splashes and the demon groaned, clutching at the pain still dully throbbing in its skull while wiping its mouth gingerly with the back of a pale, trembling hand.

The Woman stopped pacing, back still turned. Her willowy frame swayed gracefully as she shifted her weight, placing a hand on her hip. "That… foul, basal  _creature_ ," she ejected the word from her mouth with such distaste that the demon flinched, "was supposedly the only thing who could slip in between the cracks of the magic protecting that house. Its  _sole task_ —a task I set to  _you_ , by the way," and the Woman's crimson lip curled as she looked at the demon over a pale shoulder, "—was to retrieve the book, kill the others, and bring the girl to me."

The demon choked around another glob of blood, trails of it bubbling past its lips as it spoke. "Yes, I understand. But the vampire had already hidden the book. It was not with him when he arrived at the witch house."

"Clever boy," the Woman murmured to herself. The Original vampire was proving to be quite the nuisance after all. She should have burned his kind to ash when she had had the chance.

The Woman whirled around, skirts swirling about her ankles like water, facing the cowering demon with an expression of bone-numbing, petrifying fury. It so contorted her face with terrifying purpose that the demon audibly sucked in breath at the sight of her. Gone was the ethereal beauty of the Woman; in its place was the fiery wrath of a being not of this world. Despite its millennia as a servant of hell, the demon found that it could, indeed, be very afraid of this, this…  _thing_  wearing a woman's skin.

The Woman's mouth twitched as if realizing her slip in composure and then, suddenly, the expression eroded away, replaced by one of tender kindness that made the pastel skin of her smooth cheeks veritably glow with warmth. The change was remarkable and complete, and despite itself, the demon felt the terror it had held so urgently at the sight of her before begin to recede.

She reached up and smoothed an errant copper hair back in place. "I do not suffer mistakes," the Woman delicately murmured, her voice a windchime of sound. Her gaze flicked away from the creature before her, turning introspectively inwards as she mused, "However, I am patient, and I always prepare for the inevitable worst. Already the wheels are in motion to bring the witch to me. She cannot bend fate to her will. It is her destiny. I may be Mother of All, but this girl," and the Woman relished a delicious shiver of delight at the words, "this daughter of Daughters shall be the Mother of One."

The demon's lips parted, and it whetted them excitedly. It had known the witch was important—Mother had told it as much before sending it on its way—but if the girl was the one who was prophesized, well… With a dreadful feeling of dawning comprehension, the demon realized for the first time how very profoundly it had failed.

"F-forgive me, Mother," the demon stuttered, fear choking its senses as it fell to the floor, splaying itself before Woman's mercy. "Please, send me back, for I have failed you." The hellspawn raised its arms imporingly.

The Woman smiled, bent down, and placed gentle hands lovingly on either side of the demon's face. The demon's face turned from adoration, to confusion, then to alarm as it realized the Woman was squeezing its skull with impossible force. Her fingernails dug into the demon's hair, and it was only when unending rivulets of blood began to stream down the demon's face and into its eyes that it began to scream. It hastily attempted to leave its host, eyes flashing black and arms stiffening, but the Woman's magic held the demon firmly in the possessed's body, able to feel every crack of bone as the skull fractured beneath the Woman's superhumanly strong grip.

The demon gurgled and twitched, brain sending a few last feeble spasmic jerks through the nerves of the occupied body. The Woman waited calmly until the struggling desisted, then ceased altogether, enjoying the way the skull seemed to cave in on itself like a rotted fruit. Sighing and letting the dead body slip from her grasp, the Woman wiped her hands calmly along the pure, diaphanous white of her gown, creating a dark smear across the otherwise beautiful fabric. The body slid to the floor, eyes wide open and glassy. Spreading her arms wide, the Woman curled her lips in distaste as the demon's essence merged with her own, a dark, foul sort of energy that nonetheless settled deep within her alongside the rest. Demons were vulgar, twisted creatures barely warranting the state of 'life,' so unlike the beautiful souls of the humans she had harvested over the epochs. However…

"Waste not," the Woman murmured, placing a sticky crimson finger to her lips and sucking.

The demon's blood pooled black upon the cobbled stone and the Woman knelt in it, goosebumps prickling her cool flesh as the hot wetness bathed the bare skin of her legs and feet with almost sensual contrast. Bowing her head, she placed her hands palms-flat upon the slick, bloodied floor.

" _Awûm e'iltu amtu. Ebēbu dullu amānu, aḫu ummudu_." Her voice was guttural, and with each syllable the room grew darker, torch flames shrinking inwards on themselves as if afraid of what was to come.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and the ritual worked its way through the ether, forging a connection thousands of miles away. Blood called to blood, and the Woman felt a swooping tug in her gut as the two ends met and knotted neatly together.

"Ah, Katerina," the Woman spoke out loud, silvery voice echoing in the otherwise empty chamber around her. Her body, while housed in one part of the world, no longer kept company with her mind, which was currently engaged in conversation with one of her many pawns in play.

"Tell me, my child… are the wheels yet in motion?"


	13. Voices Never Shared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voices and dreams plague Bonnie and Stefan tonight.

The air tasted of rain and ozone, the truth of a storm yet to come.

Stefan Salvatore eyed the low-hanging glow of the ruddy, ripe moon with an impatience he could not quite quell. The hunger, the thirst—it gnawed at his gut, eroding away until he panted with the ache of it. Disquiet had been his constant companion these past few months, and, he was beginning to notice, it grew ever stronger under the gravitational influence of the moon. It would have been ironic—a vampire displaying lycanthropic tendencies—save for his situation, something he was only just starting to realize was submerging him quite properly out of his depth.

At this hour, he should have been elsewhere, lost in dreams and visions; anywhere away from here.

But Stefan didn't have dreams. How would he? He didn't sleep. He couldn't.

Not anymore.

He was jolted out of his pensive broodings by a weak movement between his fingers. Looking down, Stefan glanced in mild annoyance at the person he currently had by the throat in a choking grip, still desperately clinging to life even as he painstakingly squeezed it out, second by second, through the man's esophagus. This particular prey had a significance about him; of late, the younger Salvatore prided himself in being more discerning in his victims. It was the excuse he gave for the increasingly large trail of bodies he left in his wake. A purveyor of justice, he could have fancied himself; that is, if he hadn't known what the darker, flip side of the coin held in store.

Stefan had followed the man in town earlier that evening. The pale, balding visiting businessman was a predator, a piece of scum in a world where Stefan knew the type; he had caught the man attempting to corner a local Scottish girl on the way back from the pub by the road that led to the highland. That was what fueled his anger now, evidenced by the windpipe-crushing force when Stefan's fingertips sank and pulled into the fleshy, purpling skin of his victim's neck.

Raking his free hand calmly through his sandy mess of hair, Stefan took a beat to stare hatefully down at the vermin in his grip before loosening it slightly. The man slid out of his grasp and fell, coughing and wheezing desperately, to the gravel below. Stefan grimaced out at the abandoned farmhouse behind them, listening once more to assure himself that they were completely alone. The wind whispering through the rushes was the only sound that met his ears, and his shoulders relaxed somewhat. Why he was so tense remained a mystery, even to him. It's not like hadn't done this before, dozens of times. Slowly, deliberately, Stefan began rolling up his sleeves. The man on the ground couldn't speak through his coughing retches, but his eyes watered with fear all the same as he watched the clinical way in which Stefan prepared for what was unmistakably the man's death.

_No compulsion on this one_ , he decided to himself. Stefan didn't use it on those who didn't deserve it. He wanted to see the would-be-rapist's face when he realized that there were monsters worse than he who prowled the night.

_Monster_. It was a label that he so casually applied to himself these days. Something Bonnie Bennett saw in him the moment she laid eyes upon him.

Turning to face the man full-on, Stefan closed his eyes momentarily, focusing on listening to hummingbird thrum of the man's heartbeat as he hyperventilated. His fear was almost tangible in the air around him, and Stefan couldn't help the rush of excitement that flowed through the darkest part of him in anticipation of what was to come next.

Opening his mouth wide, Stefan's fangs descended from his gums, veins flowering across his eyes and cheekbones as his eyes turned crimson. The ripper reveled in the dawning moment of sheer terror that unfurled itself across the man's face, seconds before he rushed him, sank his teeth into the man's neck. His teeth found purchase in the artery and he guzzled, drinking in long, thirsty, greedy pulls with all the angry hunger of a child.

The man tried to scream, but all that came out was a hoarse gurgle that died off with a choke when Stefan snapped his neck with a quick pinch of his fingers at the man's neck. Then he lowered his mouth again and continued to gorge himself on the man's blood.

* * *

_She dreamt of a world gone to ash._

_It fell in silence, drifting like off-color snow before settling in a fine coating across the forest floor. Her mouth tasted of it. Her skin stank of it. Her lashes grew heavy with it. It muffled her footsteps and all she could hear was her breathing, breathing, breathing, in and out and in and out. Her pants echoed funnily in the distance, fading and amplifying in crests and troughs like a radio being tuned._

_She looked up to find the world a darker place. Clouds crackled and split across the sky like peeling paint and then the pieces fell, fell, lightly to the ground as bits of ash and soot. There was no sun, no moon, nor other indication of what the time of day was. It was only ash, and somehow Bonnie knew that this was what had become of the world in her absence. This is what she held in her future._

_Ashes. Ashes and silence._

_And, seamlessly, the dream shifted through the fog of her mind into the next stage. It was completely different from the first part of her dream, though she felt no disquiet at the change._

_Her surroundings were some unknown interior, with artificial light barely illuminating the hands she raised in front of her to prove that she could still see._

_She felt a hand around her waist, another threading through her hair and tugging back gently, until her neck was exposed. The hands were warm, strong… and their touch possessive as they ran along the bare strip of skin between her shirt hem and waistband. His touch was electrifying, her body reacting instantly to the draw of his skin against hers. She felt heat surging low in her belly, the first stirrings of anticipation and lust lacing her bloodstream as his breath fanned down the back of her neck, cool as the touch of his lips at her nape. It was enough to make her shiver, shuddering in the man's arms as he held her anchored to him._

_As she touched the back of his wrist with her fingers she_ knew _what she wanted. Knew with the fervor of someone who never knew what they wanted until now._

_She wanted_ **him** _._

_She finally—_ finally— _felt safe._

_And then she looked down at the hand curved around her waist._

_On the man's hand was a ring—one that she would recognize anywhere. Lapis lazuli and the silvered chrome of the metal band around the man's finger glittered up at her in the light and she knew. She_ knew _._

" _Oh God," she breathed, realization and horror turning her pulse to lead._

" _It's_ **you** _!"_

* * *

Bonnie awoke, gasping and shuddering.

Her heart drilled into her sternum and for a moment of sheer, blinding fright, she had no idea where she was. Then the events of the past few days washed over her like acid, burning and toxic and making her eyes water as she struggled with the onslaught of memories. Squeezing her eyes shut, she lay there rigidly, in an unfamiliar bed with 1000-thread-count sheets and too-plush pillows. She twisted her fingers into the sheets, twisted them until her fingers were numb, focusing on the tingling pain instead of the frantic way her heart beat in her throat. The dregs of the dream that she had so jarringly woken from slipped through her sieve-like memory as always, maddeningly so even as she tried so desperately to remember the details—a faceless man, whose touch she craved; the world, asleep, quiet as the grave. Or was it burning? She couldn't remember anymore—but with each passing moment she remembered less and less of it. Soon, it was a mere shadow in her mind, interred along with the rest.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, her pulse leveled to a normal tempo. Slowly, one finger at a time, Bonnie let go of the bedsheet tangled in her hands and opened her eyes.

It was a while since Bonnie had had a panic attack. She didn't like them any more than she had before.

The faint moonlight coming in through the windows played shadows across the ceiling, gnarled and shifting into new shapes as she watched unblinking. Still trembling slightly, and feeling as exhausted as if she had never slept at all, Bonnie swung her legs over the side of the bed and hopped down, wincing as her bare feet skimmed the freezing cold wooden paneling of the bedroom floor. Rubbing her hands along her arms and glancing to the east through her window, Bonnie frowned at the dark of the world without, debating.

Finally, her restlessness got the best of her. Rising, she made her way to her bedroom door.

* * *

Stefan's hand was halfway to his mouth when suddenly he stopped and blinked. With a frown, he paused—he realized, with a jolt, he didn't remember what he had been thinking, or, for that matter, what he had been doing. Confusion marred the young vampire's features as he looked at the splayed paleness of his fingers—at the dark, tarlike blood covering them like paint. Somehow, he was kneeling instead of standing, as he had been moments before… but then Stefan looked up at the sky, at the lazy grey lines of the rainclouds cocooning a moon that was now a hot, bright circle high in its apex, and he knew that it hadn't been moments, but hours, since he last remembered anything.

He felt something in his mouth, half-chewed and heavy. Gagging, he held out his hand and spat into it. Something warm and clotted fell into it, trailing blood and saliva down his wrist. Stefan stared at it in silence for a moment.

Then, with a swooping shock that paralyzed him, he  _realized_.

A choked "No!" fell from his lips in a hushed whisper, a fervent prayer to whatever foul patron god may have been watching his prodigal son that night.

_Not again_ … Slowly, painfully, his gaze anchored downwards, and he took in all at once the sickening sight before him.

What he saw made a gasp rip its way from his mouth, echoing gratingly against the pounding drumroll of his heartbeat in his ears. Vision swimming, Stefan stumbled backwards across the ground on his haunches, leg flailing out and kicking the dead body at his feet in his efforts to distance himself from it as quickly as possible.

The man he had attacked—and the term "man" was a loose one, for it no longer described the pile of destroyed, jutting limbs and glistening musculature now exposed to the elements. Everywhere, the corpse had been torn into, short of turning it inside out. And everywhere, bite marks into the man's flesh, where the body had been eaten, as if savaged by a wild animal.

Stefan wiped his mouth with the back of a shaking hand, managing to smear the blood in a brushstroke-like arc across the contour of his right cheek. For the first time in months, he felt flush with strength, almost sick with how full he was with it. And now, before his eyes, the tremor in his hands steadied. The sallow skin of his hands and arms, tinged with forking blue veins running beneath then, regained some color and vibrancy, some of their old vitality. He felt  _alive_  again.

And, for the first time, Stefan felt a very real, very palpable terror rising up inside of him. His hands, gore-covered, balled into fists at his sides and he gritted his teeth, afraid to move, afraid to make a sound for fear of waking up whatever was inside of him again to finish the half-consumed corpse at his feet.

Pressing a hand to his stomach, he felt the hunger, muted somewhat but already gnawing away again at his insides.

Oh, God. What was  _wrong_  with him?

_Monster_.

_Monster._

The word was a niggling itch in his mind that grew stronger as it echoed, shifting inside his conscious and settling there, purring.

"Hungry," he whimpered to himself, digging his fingertips into the muscles of his abdomen, tearing the fabric of his tee shirt with the strength of his grip. He wanted to  _tear_  the hunger out, as if it were a living, beating thing he could strangle in his grip as well.

_Monster_.

Stefan's hands started to shake. A huff of air passed his lips and his lips tugged to the side, a leering likeness of a grin.

"How does it  **feel**?" It was his voice, but not his voice. " _Monster_." The last word came out in a hiss.

It wasn't him.

Not him.

_**Monster.** _

Not him, not him, not—

_Monster. Monster. Monster._

And he tilted his head back and laughed, laughed even as the tears sluiced down his cheeks to coat the bloody stretch of his lips. A thunderclap trembled its way into the ground, and he could feel it in his very fingertips even as his stomach quaked with the strength of his mirth and the ache of the cancerous hunger rotting inside of him. A drop of rain hit his cheek, indistinguishable from the wetness already there.

For some time, Stefan Salvatore laughed and laughed, and as the skies opened up, they wept with him.

* * *

Earlier that evening, as he was showing her around the surprisingly modest cottage, Klaus had told her that the house was perfectly safe, protected by wards, charms, spells and curses should anyone uninvited decide to come knocking. Bonnie had nodded like she believed him but deep down she kept thinking of Kol, and how he had given her the same exact speech back at the mansion.

Kol was dead now, a victim of his own false advertising.

Grabbing a random jacket hanging from the coatrack by the door, Bonnie carefully undid the latch for the front door. It swung inwards on silent hinges, for which she was grateful. A gust of tart, brisk sea air caught her around the knees and she shivered, shrugging into the jacket and tugging it snugly about her body. She then slipped out of the cottage and shut the door with a soft  _click_.

The moonlight was modest tonight, filtering through a grate of fast-moving grey clouds that seemed to dapple her skin as she walked. The smell of earth and rain was potent in her nose, and she inhaled deeply, enjoying the richness of it, the dewy drops that peppered the bare of her legs as she walked, instinct guiding her.

Finally, she got to where she was headed and stopped suddenly. The view was incredible, even in the scant light of the moon.

The three of them truly had a kind of island unto themselves; the small, otherwise unpopulated inlet upon which they were perched was nothing compared to the wide, gasping sea crashing wave upon wave against the hard, unyielding rock of the cliff that jutted out over it. Foam and spray mingled in the chaotic air and the sound of lapping water and crushing tide was a wild kind of white noise that Bonnie welcomed to blanket the static of her thoughts.

It was in this place that she had hoped to find her calm, her center upon which to focus for the task she had set for herself. Wistfully, she stared at the waves pitching and heaving on the rocks below for a few moments longer before tearing her eyes away.

Now… Time to test if the asphodel was  _really_  out of her system.

Shaking her arms out with a flourish and rolling her shoulders, Bonnie turned back towards the cottage, taking a few steps away from the cliff side to plant her feet more firmly on the sandy, grass-covered soil. Her eyes fell closed as she splayed her fingers and raised her hands, concentrating on her senses—the cool of the breeze at her back and the salty scent of sea air in her lungs.

It was with an electrifying jolt that she collided with the warding magic around the house. Gooseflesh covered her arms and she let out a small, relieved breath. The asphodel was gone, and for the first time in a long time, she could touch her magic once more. A pleased smile curved her lips, genuine and so unfamiliar in the past few weeks that she smiled even more widely, just because she could.

_Well, then_ , she thought to herself.  _Time to dust off the cobwebs._

Concentrating hard, Bonnie ran her mind over the smooth bindings of the spell, searching for cracks in its foundation. Unsurprisingly, she found none; whoever had worked for Klaus in warding the house had done everything they were supposed to do. However, though the protective magic was seamless, it was also a bit weaker than she would have liked. It was perfectly cast, but brute force magic could make short work of the spell if the wrong kind of enemy discovered this flaw.

Bowing her head, Bonnie clutched at the weaves of spellwork wrapped around the house and tugged mentally, tightening and threading over and under again to reinforce the blend. It was a simple enough task that even a garden variety witch could handle it without tiring; however, it still required enough discipline and concentration that Bonnie was sufficiently challenged.

She didn't know how long she worked there in the night, eyes closed and flickering beneath their eyelids as she tugged here, pulled there in her mind. However, when she was finally satisfied with the reinforced magic of the house, the moon was high and small in the sky. Bonnie's eyes opened, two slips of emerald shining in the dark. Her work here was done, and for the first time in a while, she felt in control of her own safekeeping.

Suddenly, something warm and wet dropped down from her nose and trickled over her lips. Brow furrowing, Bonnie brought a hand up to her face. Her fingertips came away red.

"No," Bonnie whispered to herself, shaking her head in disbelief. She hadn't had nosebleeds in…  _years_. This was unbelievable. A spike of fear pushed searing adrenaline through her veins. A simple fortification spell, draining her so much?

The affirmative came in the way her vision began to swim without warning, causing her to mutter a quick, vehement " _Shit_ ," before her knees buckled out from under her. The world grew dim around the edges and she found her world upended and the ground fastly approaching.

Suddenly, with a breath of air at her neck to announce his presence, two hands encircled her waist, stopping her fall mere moments before she would have hit the ground. Bonnie found herself staring dazedly up at the ghostly pale visage of one Stefan Salvatore, who, for his part, looked as surprised to find her in his arms as she felt being there.

Her lips parted in surprise and blood dribbled into her mouth, coating her tongue with the bitter tang of iron. Stefan's gaze dropped to her lips and his eyes darkened slightly before flicking back up to hold her stare with his. They looked at each other for a moment, Bonnie struggling and failing to keep her vision from swimming. His fingertips accidentally brushed along the small of her neck and she couldn't help it—she shivered. His hands were like ice, but they left fire where they touched.

The silence stretched, and Bonnie felt herself growing warm under the heat of Stefan's gaze.

"You're wearing my jacket," Stefan voiced finally, lips thinning as if he had realized it for the first time.

Bonnie's brow creased and she swallowed hard, laboring to speak. "Go… fuck yourself… Salvatore," she gasped haltingly. Then her eyes rolled in the back of her head and she promptly passed out in Stefan's arms.

* * *

Bonnie woke on the table in the living room, a strange sense of dejà-vu washing over her as she gazed around at the drawing room area where she had awoken the day before, just as dazed and confused.

Immediately, her eyes were drawn to the vampire sitting with one long leg crossed elegantly over the other in the armchair directly in front of the fireplace. Klaus managed to make the careless array of his limbs look like an art form as he lounged in the chair before her. His long-lashed eyes brightened at the sight of Bonnie's return to consciousness and he sat forward somewhat in his chair.

"Welcome back, Bonnie," he stated simply, smile flirting with his lips before finally settling in the dimples of each cheek. For no reason other than his existence, Bonnie wanted to smack the look clean off his face.

Weak as she was, Bonnie managed a (pathetic, by her standards) grimace in the Original's general direction before looking around the room, anticipating correctly the presence of Klaus' insignificant other.

She could practically feel the  _click_  of their gazes as they locked together. Stefan's eyes narrowed as he focused on her. He was leaning against the sill of the window with his narrow hips, one hand tucked into the pocket of his pants, the other clutching a glass with what seemed to be more force than necessary. Suddenly, the room was too hot for her. Bonnie gripped the table beneath her legs tightly with her hands and stared determinedly back at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of looking away first.

There was a long, pregnant pause in which the two of them glowered at each other. Finally, Stefan broke the silence.

"You passed out," he enunciated, once again treating her as if she were a child incapable of comprehending.

Bonnie scowled further, green eyes blazing while she hopped off the table and began to pace. "Yeah, because for some reason, my powers are completely stunted! I can't even light a  _candle_ right now." She flexed her fingers as if to demonstrate.

A stricken expression flickered across her delicate features, which Klaus perceptively caught before she glazed it over with a ripple of righteous anger. Though he knew it wasn't the first time the witch had lost touch with her powers, he was starting to get a sense of how lost she might be feeling without them, if the way her hands wrung as she paced were any indication. The thought was enough for a twinge of pity to rise up in him, unexpected and entirely unannounced. With an annoyed cant of his lips, Klaus quashed the feeling down before it got too ahead of itself. There was no use sympathizing with the girl; she was a tool to be used, no more.

The witch stopped pacing and sent a searing glare Stefan's way. "I wonder who may have drugged me in the past week. Maybe that might have something to do with it!" Bonnie accused hotly.

" _Me_?" For the first time, Stefan seemed to lose some of his nonchalant coolness, as if the accusation of his neglect whilst drugging her with the asphodel was too much to let slide. " _I'm_  the reason you're an incompetent excuse for a Bennett witch nowadays? Ha!" With errant disdain, he tilted his head back and let out a peal of derisive laughter. He then went over to the window, where a decanter full of bourbon stood on an end table. Knuckles white, the younger Salvatore poured himself a generous drink with steady hands.

Bonnie gestured at her face, her upper lip still caked with dried blood. "I haven't had nose bleeds since  _high school_ , Stefan. The only variable that's changed here is  _you_ ," she stabbed a finger in his direction, then turned to round on Klaus, "and let's not forget  _you_."

Klaus raised a brow, delicately lacing his fingers together and watching the two of them argue. "Please, don't bring me into this."

Bonnie stalked towards his seat on the armchair whilst he watched her carefully. He expected more yelling, but when she spoke, it was with the deadest calm.

"Oh, you are  _in this_ ," she declared, lips tugging back against her bared teeth with a fierceness that delighted him.

He cut her off before she could elaborate. "Why do you hate me so much, Bonnie?" Klaus' voice was light, as casual as he could manage.

Bonnie's fingers contracted into fists, disgust curling her lip as she spoke.

"You sure you got the time? Where should I begin? Past offences notwithstanding, my sorry, exhausted ass has been dragged—against my will, I might add—halfway across the continent, now around the  _world_ , just so I can help you find some stupid rock that's most likely some completely bullshit story in the first place. Demons, wights, God knows what else are now hunting us," Bonnie seethed, "And I've barely escaped with my life in the past few assassination attempts, no thanks to you. Now my magic is on the fritz because your glorified  _guard dog_ —yeah, that's you, asshole," she spat at Stefan, who raised his glass of to her and winked before taking another sip, "And now you want  _me_  to help  _you_  some more?"

Taking a pause, she shook her head incredulously. She was breathing heavily, and she had no doubt she looked as deranged as she felt right now. "Look, I appreciate you bringing me back from wherever the hell my mind was at before. That was great. Two cookies for Klaus. But fucking  _ **really**_?" She threw her hands up in exasperation. "I'm out! I'm done. I am leaving. Right now." With great effort, she raised a hand and a small flame appeared in her hand, small enough not to be too draining, but bright and hot enough to give both vampires in the room pause.

Klaus clapped his hands together slowly, delighted by her little show. "There. Do you feel better now?" The vampire smiled infuriatingly at her over the tips of his fingers.

Her words came out in a snarl, dropping from her drawn lips like brimstone. "I'd feel better after a little game of 'what hurts the most?' I hope you don't like your balls where they are right now, because when I'm done with you, you will be wishing you were born a girl..."

Stefan let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh. Two pairs of eyes whipped around to glare at him and he lifted a brow uncaringly, meeting each of their stares with a flat one of his own. Leaning back, he lifted his arms up and stretched, cracking the vertebrae in his back unnervingly loudly one by one as the hem of his shirt lifted, exposing hard planes of stomach and hipbone.

Klaus let out an exasperated sound before waving a dismissive hand. "You're free to leave, Bonnie. But I implore you—for the greater good, please, wait until tomorrow. Give me that much. I know you don't owe  _me_ anything," he hastily added, to quell Bonnie's thunderous expression, "But you are a Bennett witch. You owe the world—the innocent—your protection. I know that's unfair, but destiny rarely is."

Bonnie's hateful expression cracked enough for Klaus to see the curiosity that simmered in the jade depths of her gaze.

"Tomorrow morning. I promise. You will know as much as I do. Please, Bonnie," and his voice was plaintive enough to give her pause, "For all our sakes, stay one more night. If by this time tomorrow, you do not wish to stay of your own volition, you may walk out this door and disappear forever, and I will never darken your doorway again."

"Play me one more time, Klaus, and I'll make sure that the only doorway you darken is in hell," Bonnie spat.

She turned on her heel and, sparing a dark, accusing glance at Stefan, left the drawing room to disappear into the depths of the house.

It was only hours later, when the soft, hushed sounds of Bonnie's even breathing indicated that she was finally asleep in her bedroom, that the two vampires sat before the fireplace and broached the topic they had been skirting around since the moment they had arrived in Scotland.

Naturally, it was Klaus who first broke words.

"If what you've told me of the events at the mansion is true," Klaus said thoughtfully, "then we need to talk about Bonnie Bennett."

"No shit," Stefan grunted into his drink, downing the last of it before compulsively reaching to refill the glass. The dark amber liquid sloshed slightly as he brought the decanter down too hard on the rim.

Klaus steepled his fingers under his chin, eyes glittering with alertness. "The asphodel is not the problem," he deduced slowly. "Its effects are completely temporary; it should have passed out of her system days ago." He _hmm_ ed pensively. "A mental block, perhaps?"

Stefan's lip curled back into a bitter sneer. "No." He said simply, shaking his head slowly. "I know her. I know what a mental block looks like and this isn't it." He paused, chewing his lip. "She doesn't  _fear_  like she used to," he decided at last.

A sudden, sobering thought struck Klaus, and he cursed. Stefan raised his brows in amusement, waiting for the Original to give voice to his thoughts. "The wight. The mansion… Her powers. She must have…" Klaus waved his hand vaguely.

Amused, Stefan's voice echoed in his glass as he took another large swallow of his bourbon. It seared a path down his throat. "Go on," he quipped, words dripping with condescension. "You've almost got it."

Klaus' eyes flicked towards the younger Salvatore and he drew himself up from his armchair in a fluid motion, an unconscious move to put him on equal footing. "Tell me again. You said that when the wight began to feed on her soul, she started… glowing?"

A wry twist of his mouth kept the words from slipping out too emotively. "Like I said," Stefan said carefully, mulling over his words. "It wasn't a glow like a  _light_ , per se—it was more like a…  _feeling_  I got when I watched her. Like she had some sort of—" he gestured vaguely, scowling as he tried to find the right word, "— _aura_  around her that I couldn't look away from." There was more to it than that, but whatever it was Stefan kept very much to himself. The way he felt when he saw her in that moment—body lifted from the floor, hair fanning about her face like a halo, light bending around her to refract like jewels midair as the wight began to feed upon her soul—it was too complicated to describe with words. It felt like death. It felt like life. It was… everything, and then…

Stefan cleared his throat, savagely chewing the inside of his lip to temper the tone of awe that managed to slip into his voice as he spoke. "And then…" Stefan's brow creased, and his gaze flicked up to Klaus'.

Klaus spread his hands impatiently. "And  _then_?"

"I'm not sure what I saw, exactly. Bonnie sort of convulsed and then the room grew dark. Pitch dark, for a moment. Then there was some sort of shockwave, like a– a pulse of energy," Stefan drew his fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp in an agitated manner. "It was  _bright_ , it was… it was so painful I had to cover my eyes. When I looked back up, Bonnie was out cold and the creature, the wight…"

"Its shadow was seared into the floor, as if it had been vaporized on the spot," Klaus finished for him, nodding as if he had made Stefan tell the story a dozen times before.

Stefan grunted his acquiescence. "Not to mention the fact that she completely destroyed the centuries-old warding on the mansion with that one blast of magic.  _And_  knocked out the power grid for the entire town surrounding with the accompanying EMP blast."  _And this happened when she was_   **unconscious** , Stefan wanted to emphasize,  _Imagine what she would be capable of if she were at full power._

Klaus tapped a finger to his pursed lips. "That kind of magic… One wonders how much of it was required for her to perform something like that, albeit in an unconscious state. Enough to fry her circuits for a while, wouldn't you say?"

Stefan swilled his drink, slate eyes catching the light of the flames crackling in the hearth. "All I'm saying is that she has a lot more power than either of us realized. And to be honest I don't think Bonnie's aware of it. That makes her all the more dangerous," he added, as if it needed saying, "and I don't like not knowing why all of a sudden she has so much extra power."

Klaus blinked, frowning. "You are implying," he asked incredulously, "that she has acquired this great power through means other than natural ability?" Stefan remained pointedly silent. "She's a Bennett witch," Klaus argued, confusion lining his features. "Surely that is enough to explain the circumstances? Greatness is in her bloodline."

Stefan ignored him. "I don't think it's black magic," he mused, more to himself than the other vampire. "At least, it doesn't seem like it to me. Dark to dark, light to light—dark magic is incapable of purging a creature created from itself, right? It would go against its very nature. So it has to be something else. Is it a grimoire we don't know about?"

The Original shook his head. He did not know much of Stefan's familiarity with magic, but his own experiences with the dark arts in New Orleans alone had taught him enough to guess what Bonnie's magic was and wasn't. "No. Grimoires do not augment magic, only refine it. Perhaps," he ventured as a thought struck him, "she has bound her magic? Joined a coven? Covens, when bound, can pool their magic together," he reasoned, waving a hand as he spoke. "Perhaps she subconsciously was drawing upon her fellow witches' powers when she was being attacked. That would explain how she was able to channel such a significant amount of magical energy."

Stefan pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long stream of air through his gritted teeth. "That's possible, except Bonnie would never bind her magic. She wouldn't let anyone get close to the Bennett legacy; it's too dangerous. She would be the most powerful witch in her coven, hands down. That kind of ancient blood begets even older magic. There would be witches who would attempt to steal that from her—she wouldn't put herself in that position in the first place."

Klaus raised a brow at Stefan's detailed assessment of the Bennett witch, noting the manner with which he spoke. Stefan Salvatore was many things, but it seemed that when it came to Bonnie Bennett he was more observant than he appeared.

"In any case," Klaus amended, "we find ourselves at a distinct advantage. We alone know what Bonnie could be capable of. Her power could be just what we need to find the Stone before it's too late."

Stefan raised a brow wryly but chose to say nothing. They lapsed into a pensive silence, Klaus looking out the window at the faint hues of the sunrise to the east and Stefan gazing intently at the crackling flames in the fireplace, as if they could somehow divulge to him the answers to the many mysteries of the universe and the past few confusing, shocking weeks.

It was with a rueful intake of breath that, minutes later, Stefan broke the silence with his words, smooth as velvet but with an underlying venom.

"Sorry about your brother," Stefan murmured, eyes closed in what could have been a respectfully empathetic expression. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass rhythmically, face tilted slightly upwards as if pensive.

Klaus turned and gave him an appraising look. Finally, with an angry twitch of his lips, he shook his head. "No," he decided bitterly, lip curling, "you're not."

After a beat, Stefan's eyes slid open slowly, like a doll's, to regard the Original out of the corner of his vision. The smile that ghosted his face was not quite as chilling as the deadness, a constant presence in his eyes as he spoke.

"No, I'm not," he lightly agreed, tilting the glass of bourbon to his lips. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed in long pulls. Then, standing up and striding towards the fireplace, Stefan tossed the dregs of his drink into the blaze in an explosion of flame that flickered outward to lick the hem of his jeans. Then he turned on his heel and left the room without a backward glance, laughter echoing behind him as the door slammed shut with a dull boom.


End file.
